Mis-Adventures of a Mommy in France

I think I am destined to acheive nationwide humiliation before I leave this country.

Yesterday, I picked Katherine up from school. Her teacher said (In French) that Katherine had to go caca, but was too late and had an accident in her undies.

To which I replied "Oui, c'est la meme pour moi", which translates to "Yes, it is the same for me". Basically saying I poo myself.

After an initial look of shock, the teachers got a good laugh out of me and I ran out the door with my face buried in my coat. Ironically, I almost peed myself.

Then today, I went to the grocery store. For some reason, I "beep" everytime I go through the security panels. Yes, this is a grocery store & high-security is needed to deter potential food-theifs. Excuse me sir, is that a baguette in your pants or are you just happy to see me?

So upon entry, the guy waved me through and said no big deal...must be my shoes. When checking out at the cash register, I walked through to demonstrate it was me and nothing in my cart. She told me I was "radioactif" and laughed, I did not. I told her I had a metal plate in my head. That must've gotten lost in translation because she didn't laugh or maybe she felt bad for me. And oh yeah, she already thought I was pregnant because I was in the "priority lane" reserved for invalids and pregnant women (same thing in France)...too bad I was just in a hurry and happen to be carrying around 10 extra pounds. I can pull it off if I stick my gut out.

I thought that was the end of it, but then she called a French Rent-a-Cop with bad B.O. over to talk to me. He made me walk through two more times and the people in line behind me were either really amused or really irritated...possibly both. After explaining that this always happens to me, he asked to check my coat and pockets. Fortunately, no latex gloves were donned by anyone.

As I am standing there, being violated by Monsieur Rent-a-Cop, he says "Vous etes Anglais?" (You are English?).

I said "No, American, big difference sir". I love to proclaim loudly "Je suis Americane!". I should've said "Duh, look at my teeth, do I LOOK British?"

After a sincere apology for accusing me of being British, he proceeding to insult me further by saying, "Ahhh...Texas!" Apparantly since Texas is as big as France they assume we all live there on Mr. Dubya's ranch and go pheasant hunting with Dick Cheney.

I said "Non, a pres de Chicago" (close to Chicago).

To which he replied "Ah oui...Chicago...Al Capone!" and proceeded to make a machine gun gesture and noise with his hands while searching me. Not fun to have a rent-a-cop making gun sounds.

What's with the French & Al Capone? Ever hear of Oprah, Michael Jordan, Sammy Sosa or Walter-freakin'-Payton?? Alan's barber is quite fond of the gangster too, and has a photo of him in his barber shop (Al Capone, not Al D). This is the same barber Alan says I am not allowed to meet due to "IHFS" -- Irregularily-Hunky-French-Syndrome.

Lately, the humiliating encounters seem to be happening more than when we first arrived. Maybe I am being punished for never making an effort to learn French? Maybe karma is paying me back? Or maybe I should just laugh it off. I think that is the only thing I can do if I'm going to make it through these last few months! Until then, I think it is time to make Alan do the shopping ;)