In an effort to be a better Canadian and public servant, I
have registered for a French Language Training program offered through my
employer. That’s how my application reads
anyway.
In truth, I wonder how long it will take to become
moderately proficient in the exercise of sarcasm in a second language. Do the French even “do” sarcasm? I’ll keep you posted.
If nothing else, a rudimentary grasp of French will remove
that sense of frustration I often feel when trying to find the English ingredient
list, or cooking instruction on food I am looking to buy or prepare. No more cursing at the boxes and cans as they
tumble through my hands as I seek answer to the question, “Is there meat in
this soup?”
Sans meat! Sans meat!
I will read (or something like that) and I will reflect on the usefulness of my
budding bilingualism.
I’ll visit my friends in Montreal and this time when the guy
I accidently bump on the Metro says, “F*ck you!” I will respond, “F*ck you, aussi!”
That’s what it’s all about isn’t it? Growing understanding. Tearing down those walls of miscommunication
one brick at a time. . .
