It’s 23:05, Friday night. I’ve had the longest day in the history of 24-hour clocks. Today’s prompt is French. That’s it, just French.
Nope, this is not going to work, I can’t just keep repeating the prompt over and over again.
French. What’s French? France comes to mind. Quebec, too. And several parts of Africa, strangely enough. My, the French were a bit overzealous when it came to the whole colony thing, weren’t they? So were the Brits. And speaking of Brits, M and I have one living with us right now! I should always have someone sitting in the corner speaking British; it’s highly entertaining.
I’m having some wine, but I know for a fact it’s Spanish, not French. I’m having chocolate, too, but it is distinctly Finnish, not French. Oh, and now it’s gone. Well, I still have half a bottle of wine. At least that’s something.
I know some French. I can introduce myself in French, and I’m pretty sure I can insult someone in French, too, but the only time I’ve ever actually needed to know any French was when someone asked me for directions to the restrooms during my pilgrimage to a French monastery. “À gauche,” I said, feeling silly. I was sure there was supposed to be a “la” in there somewhere.
Oh! The metric system is a French thing. Apparently they actually did contribute something good to the world. Apart from French kissing, that is.
What else is French?
Moodiness is French, I think. They have this air of nonchalance that no one else has. They’re tall and skinny and look like they’ve slept far too little and enjoyed it far too much. If I ever went to France again I’d have to gain five inches, lose 20 pounds and remember to look enigmatic and anemic.
Oops, I seem to have drunk all my wine. Well, this post wasn’t really happening today anyway.
This post is part of Nicky and Mike’s 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing challenge. Today’s prompt is French. Go check out We Work For Cheese for a list of the other participants. *