The Bird Knew It.

Over the past three months, I have been oddly proud of my increasing bravery. Not the dramatic Brave, just the daily Brave required to order food and navigate simple life with very poor (non-existent) French. I learned quickly that most French people are very kind and forgiving (except in Paris). I also learned that I hate looking stupid. That’s a Me Problem. Learning requires bravery, I got over myself.

Earlier this week, I went to the village post office to pick up my friend’s certified letter. Simple, right? Hand over the slip, pay the fee, say “Merci!” Be victorious. Easy! I didn’t even miss a beat after playing it out in my head to prepare.

Nope.

The village post office is a corner bar. The “post office” is a podium with a shelf for packages. Between the podium and the bar stood a judgy yellow bird in a cage, talking at me … in French. The bartender-postal gentleman spoke very quickly and I caught only one word: comprendre?

That one I know! “Non.”

He pointed to the fee on the slip. I paid. More very fast French. I smiled. He laughed, handed me the envelope, and said, “Bonne journée.” I smiled again adding my very practiced and horrible “Aurevoir!” while blending and swallowing some vowels.

OhBoyThatWasStressful. No pictures.