Another Conversation with my Daughter
In the bath, she told me how a boy who used to sit behind her kept pulling her hair. They are both 6 years old.
Daughter: Does anyone pull your hair in class?
Me: I am at work all day, and I only have one class - my French class - on Thursdays.
Daughter: But, does anyone pull your hair in French class?
Me: No ... well, not so far.
Daughter: Are there any pretty girls in your class?
Me: Yes, I think so.
Daughter: What are their names?
Me: I am not sure I can remember all of their names.
I told her (en français) that my French prof is from France.
Daughter: He's from France! Wow, that must be so cool. He must be really good at making pasta.
Me: Pasta is an Italian dish.
Daughter: It is?
Me: Yes, but my French prof can speak Italian and Spanish too.
Daughter: Well, maybe you can go to Paris and have pizza.
1 comment:
Pizza in Paris is not so far-fetched. We ate a few panini, mainly because they were cheap and tasty. Plus, I didn't have to deal with waitstaff with my limited French. Ordering at a counter was more my speed. Sad but true.
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