French Father's Day

Well, I'd love to tell you my French improved greatly on this trip. Sadly, it seems to have gotten worse. During this lovely post-wedding chateau picnic on French Father's Day (which conveniently falls on the same day as American Father's Day), I turned to two young women, while sampling some delightful cheese, and emoted, "Je t'aime le fromage!" 

Here the lovely Chloé informs me that I just told the young women, "I love you, the cheese." Ah, this explains the rolling of the eyes and the expression of, "Oh lo lo, Americans!" on their pretty punims. "What the bleep was I supposed to say?!" You should've said, "Je aime le fromage." "Hey, I was just trying to make conversation. It's not the worst linguistic crime I've committed in France, is it?" "No," Chloé said, "not as awful as the other day, when you mixed Spanish and French together." Huh. I guess she's referring to that moment I asked a server, "Excusez-moi, dónde está les toilettes?" Give a gal a break, would ya? I really had to tinkle.

Father and sons celebrate Father's Day, Frenchly, with champagne. 

Looks like we've left the chateau, as one must do now and then, and returned to Paris. Do these lovebirds know how to pose for a photo, or what?

And now the aging Jews, finally on French time, must say au revoir to the City of Lights, and hellody to décalage horaire. I know, I know. Jet lag sounds better in French. But in any language, it still blows.