Monday, September 10, 2012

The French are Coming! The French are Coming!

I'm trying not to brag. I don't want to make all of you jealous of my fast-paced, eclectic lifestyle. But this morning I came quite close to witnessing an international incident.

There I was, on the blind, uphill curve so dearly loved by road walkers in this county, when I spied him over the crest of the hill. He was a lithe, gangly man riding a bicycle with traffic. That meant he had no idea what kind of vehicle was about to obliterate him from behind, nor the speed of his imminent demise. Not that he cared. He pedaled, with white-leather-tennis-shoe-clad feet, nonchalantly down the middle of the blacktop lane, his slim legs encased in acid-washed skinny jeans, torso hugged by a skintight black turtleneck, close-cropped gray locks topped by a jaunty black beret. I swear I heard him singing Alouette. I am surprised he was not toting a canvas bag containing a small wheel of Camembert, with the end of a baguette poking out the top. He was happily ignorant of the long, open-trailer semi loaded with rock bearing down on him.

I passed Jean Paul Pierre, then the oncoming truck. A quick glance in my mirror showed no evidence of brakes being applied. I had to take another route home this evening in order to stop at the dead-mouse-smelling post office. I know not whether there was a smear of French cheese on the roadway. I'd like to believe my fleeting foreign friend survived.

Alouette, gentille Alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai.


  1. Merde!

    Those french are trying to take over the world, and now, they've set their sights on Val's corner of the country. Could it be the magnetic pull of Val herself that lures them here?

    Don't surrender. Resist with all your might. If you don't, horrendous things will happen. You'll start eating croissants slathered with Nutella for breakfast. You'll linger over lunch for two hours. And'll drink wine with lunch AND dinner.

    Watch out. The next time you see Frenchie bicycling on one of OUR roads, mow him down. You'll be doing an act of public service.

  2. I'm sure he survived. Others might have died swerving to avoid him but I'm sure HE survived.

  3. Are you sure it wasn't an armadillo disguised as a Frenchman riding a bike? I've seen them creeping across the hilly roads in Missouri and our dog nailed one at our place in the country last weekend.

  4. Sioux,
    Genius read this over my shoulder, and said that the croissants and Nutella sounded delicious. Traitor! And how could I forget the wine? Jean Paul Pierre must have had one of those leather pouch thingies full of wine, slung over his shoulder and around on his back. He wouldn't have wanted anything to happen to it in the event of a head-on collision.

    Yes. That's always the way it goes.

    I'm sure. Because an armadillo, with his stripey hard shell, would have made me think of the black-and-white striped mime shirts, and I would have assumed Jean Paul Pierre was a distant relative of Marcel Marceau. And besides, an armadillo's feet could not reach the pedals of a bicycle.

    1. Tell Genius that Nutella IS delicious slathered on a croissant. It's also heavenly on a spoon, for a more direct delivery system.

    2. Sioux,
      I think he's aware of the spoon mainlining. Though he usually dips pretzels directly into the Nutella jar.