Now, does she look like she's got the foul-mouth of a sailor?
Today, we are playing school and, naturally, Pippa is the teacher, and I am the student. She smiles at me, and all I see are her freckles, and her loose teeth, and her sparkling eyes as she solemnly informs me that we go to school to learn how to say "fuck" and also how to spell it....P H O Q U E. Aah, now I understand. The French word "phoque" means "seal" (as in the ones who live in the ocean). I am wondering how I managed to miss including this in my posting about My Husband's French Mistress or F*** That. Perhaps that helps explain why French parents seem less shocked by the word. All they're hearing is "Seal, seal, seal."
I am reminded of a story when Gigi was younger, and we had just arrived at a playground in San Francisco. She was whining about wanting more tape (I should get stock in 3M the way the kids plow through what the French call "le scotch"), except she mixed up her languages and yelled out, "I want scotch!" It got me a few strange looks, I tell you.
[Editorial note: The observant among you may notice that I've started calling the girls by their nicknames, Gigi and Pippa, because I'm just really getting sick of calling them G & P. It makes for awkward sentences that start with "P, G and I...." which sounds more like a gas company than a family.]
Today, we are playing school and, naturally, Pippa is the teacher, and I am the student. She smiles at me, and all I see are her freckles, and her loose teeth, and her sparkling eyes as she solemnly informs me that we go to school to learn how to say "fuck" and also how to spell it....P H O Q U E. Aah, now I understand. The French word "phoque" means "seal" (as in the ones who live in the ocean). I am wondering how I managed to miss including this in my posting about My Husband's French Mistress or F*** That. Perhaps that helps explain why French parents seem less shocked by the word. All they're hearing is "Seal, seal, seal."
I am reminded of a story when Gigi was younger, and we had just arrived at a playground in San Francisco. She was whining about wanting more tape (I should get stock in 3M the way the kids plow through what the French call "le scotch"), except she mixed up her languages and yelled out, "I want scotch!" It got me a few strange looks, I tell you.
[Editorial note: The observant among you may notice that I've started calling the girls by their nicknames, Gigi and Pippa, because I'm just really getting sick of calling them G & P. It makes for awkward sentences that start with "P, G and I...." which sounds more like a gas company than a family.]
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