Bill called me today from the train station in Paris. He’d found an international bookstore with travel guides. He was checking to make sure what we do and don’t have before choosing three Green Guides to add to our growing travel library: Paris, Cote d’Azur and Chateaux of the Loire Valley.
When he got home, I tried to play it cool. After all, I really was happier to see him than to see the books.
First, I flipped through one of the English magazines he’d brought. I very much enjoyed the layout showing how to have country charm in your double-wide. (I swear it)
Finally, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I grabbed the books, anxious to check out some of the potential vacations. What I found… French. All the books are in French.
I hesitated to tell Bill, but had to. He was really upset. It’s ok, I said. I can read French ok now… I can try to figure out the books.
It’s such an easy mistake to make. You get so caught up in the thrill of finding stuff in English… you forget to make sure that’s what you take to the cashier. Oh, well, I guess I have my summer studies cut out for me.