Toad versus Frog


At Starbucks, the guy ahead of me asked “Vous êtes Française?” and me, toadish look on my face, because I'm not always charming, n'est çe pas, replied, “Non.” 

“Then, part of the French American School?” 

“No,” I said, wearily. After just having had an argument with Laurent, I was totally not wanting to play “let's speak French.” Not that I ever enjoy that game much.

“And you speak French with your daughter, why?” 

I relented. “Her father is French.” Comprehension dawned. 

I even asked a follow up, “And you?”

“French. I teach at Brown.”

Honestly, I didn't care, but I liked him, felt bad that he'd had an interaction with such a crabby human.

Homework Question: how on Earth does an artist and writer have a successful life without applying some social grease?

Welcome to my tutorial on how not to get along...

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