…even though I really, really want to!
1/ My smile. Not only is it rather large and somewhat goofy, but I’ve got big white teeth and it inevitably pops up spontaneously at the worst moments, like when I spot Inès de la Fressange at a cocktail party, and I should stay cool about it, but can’t help grinning like some kind of psycho stalker.
2/ Can’t smoke tobacco. Sorry, never have and never will. Its dirty and disgusting and kills the taste buds, which would have serious consequences for my chocolate habit.
3/ Will never appreciate Foie Gras. Its not a moral issue and I am not so worried about the gaggles of geese who line up to be gavé-ed, but the stuff just tastes like fat to me. The “gras” should have tipped me off.
4/ My bones are too big. Which is a Cleopatra, Queen of Denial way of saying I am just too fat. Have always been too fat and will never been thin enough to be mistaken for a local fille.
5/ I LIKE wearing bulky, thick fleece sweat pants. They are comfortable, even if they do make my ass look as large as the Louvre. So why most most Frenchmen get to come home to a neatly pressed, fully coiffed, high heeled Madame? Mr French gets slobby me.
6/ Too much hair. I don’t know if its the water, genetics, or perhaps all the cigarette smoke, but Parisiennes have thin, straight hair that looks absolutely perfect when twisted into a messy blob at the nape of their necks. When I do that, I look like Cousin Itt on a bad hair day.
7/ I don’t complain enough. I am not being judgmental here, it is a well known regional pass time. My Little Paris made a video about it and there is a popular t-shirt that reads, “I heart nothing, I’m a Parisienne“. Clearly these folks have never spent a winter in Montréal, or a summer in San Francisco, or they’d realize, they’ve got nothing to complain about!
8/ I like to work. The French like holidays. Nothing wrong with vacations, but when your kids get a 2 week break every 6 weeks AND 2 months off for the summer holidays, well, it makes you wanna scream, au secours!!! And I’m not even going to start on les grèves...
9/ I kind of think its ok to eat when you’re hungry. I am not talking constant grazing, but I suspect if it was ok to have a little snack at the heure du goûter Parisiennes might smile a bit more and complain a bit less. It doesn’t have to be fattening, an apple a day…
10/ Did I mention that damn smile of mine?
Oh so true, and those are 10 reasons that make you so special.
I love this! I’m glad you aren’t Parisienne or trying to be. That’s what makes you so unique in Paris! I’m sure the French appreciate you just as you are.
My anniversary post was all about the joys of embracing our origins, natural make-up, personalities of who we were before we came here. There’s something to be said about staying true to who you are.
I love your blog because it keeps my Paris habit fed with just the right touch of cynicism so I don’t lose touch with the reality of what can be the dark side of the City of Light, having had a few experiences with irate hotel concierges and nutty cabbies. I am a many times visitor, not having had the opportunity to spend extended time in the country, alas. So much (vicarious) fun to see French hands on living through your eyes.
Good luck to your UofC freshman daughter. My daughter in law happens to teach Georgian at the university in the Slavic Language Dept., in case there might be interest in a very esoteric language or history class. Ha!
I agree with the others. Stay as sweet as yOu are. I love your smile. And I am sure you are more interesting as a foreigner than a faux pariisienne .
But all good qualities to become une Montréalaise (-:
You may never be a Parisienne, but you are still ok by me! And not bending to what is de rigueur just makes it even better. Viva la difference!
WHEREAS I smoke, looove foie gras, am skinny and am only compelled to eat when something looks delicious (or after not eating all day, out of a guilty sort of concern for my health), have straight thin hair, tend to smile wanly, think that people who where sweatpants outside their home have given up on life, and love complaining (indirectly, maybe more la rouspétance) only slightly less than goofing off…
and live in middle America. So. I have to hate you. Sorry.
You go, girl! (but I hate you.)
A native born Parisienne, miss placed at birth. I love it!
*wear (mon telephone conneries!)
We must hold in to our foreigner differences, they make us unique and more interesting!
Yes, or as Popeye said it, I am what I am!!!
Sylvie, I have seen your picture. You are pretty and, while not svelte, definitely not fat.