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Je ne sais quoi
Give me back Andy and Fran
It happens every year. Notwithstanding the threat of terrorism, many American vacationers packed eastbound airplanes to make their initial assault on Europe. Despite standing in line for hours to enter the Uffizi, or discovering that Portuguese drivers frequently make three traffic lanes from two, or having their wallets lifted in the Paris metro, for many Americans a trip to Europe is seen as a right of passage into the mainstream of vacationdom.
Now I’ve got no problem with vacationing in Europe. Heck, I’ve done it myself. However, I do get annoyed when I must interact with newly affected travelers returning from the Old World. What happens to these people? They leave U.S. soil utterly oafish and return all urbane.
That's exactly what happened to our neighbors, Andy and Fran. They left absolutely clueless and returned terminally sophisticated.
To wit:
They left on vacation on July 7.
They returned from holiday on 7 August.
They left shaking hands.
They returned to kiss our cheeks.
They left wearing Hawaiian shirts and white tennies.
They returned dressed in all black.
Before they left, they would toss down burgers and fries.
Now they nibble fois gras.
They used to answer the phone with “Hello.”
Now it’s “Pronto.”
They used to eat dinner at 6:30, starting with a salad.
Now they eat at 9:30 and have their salad last.
They used to use dinner utensils in a normal manner.
Now they operate knives in their dominant hands to push food on inverted forks held in their other hands.
When the temperature would get into the 90’s earlier in the summer, we'd hop in Andy’s truck for a 2-mile drive to the local 7-Eleven for a six-pack of Bud.
Now, when the temperature gets above 30º (Celsius, of course—what ever happened to centigrade, anyway?), we motor 11 kilometers (or worse, 11 klics) across town in his lorry to Bonjour Beveragés to purchase liters of water (water!) in green glass bottles from Italy or France or San Marino—wherever that is.
They used to use efficient superlatives like “way cool” and “totally awesome, dude” when describing their journeys.
Now they proclaim that their vacat… I mean their holiday was “fabulous.”
They used to write in understandable English.
But they sent us a card (which they “posted” rather than “mailed”) describing the "colour" of the countryside, the "behaviour" of the local population, and how they thought the "theatre" to be just fabulous—there’s that word again—during their vacation holiday.
They used to be coffee drinkers.
Now they are espresso aficionados.
They used to have me over for a brewski.
Now I get invited for a pint—unless all they have is that effeminate water in green glass bottles.
I could almost overlook all this pretension if it weren't for this one, over-the-top, chop-breaker: Our neighbors emerged from their European holiday not as Andy and Fran but as André and Françoise.
Auuugh! If you are a Yankee who has yet to visit Europe, please go. Get it over with. But then, unlike André and Françoise, get over it.
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