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French Woman on the Bus

A French woman sat in front of me on the bus. Of course, I didn’t realize she was a French woman until she flipped open her cellphone and began talking in perfect French. And it made sense, because her ear-length brown hair was perfectly shaped around her long small-featured face, her black blouse and skirt were stylish on her trim short-limbed body, and her dangling gemstone earrings were a perfect balance of whimsy and class.

(I have figured out how even the most dowdy French woman gives the impression that she spends hours getting ready in the morning: For most of their adult lives, the French woman’s wardrobe, hygiene, make-up and hair routines do not change. After devoting their teenaged years to figuring out how they look good, they spend the rest of their lives perfecting this look. If they look good in black turtlenecks and hip-hugging slacks, they will only shop for variations of black turtlenecks and hip-hugging slacks. If they determine the most flattering length for their hair and bangs, it will become their permanent length. If they want to experiment, they’ll try a new scarf. American women, we’re constantly changing our looks and trying new products and styles. And every morning, we spend 20 minutes trying to bizarre clothes that didn’t look any better when we bought them and then hurriedly throwing a t-shirt and sack-skirt.)

She used the familiar “tu” with whomever she was talking. I pick up only the key words in her conversation: “manger” “soir” “reservation.” They were making dinner plans at 7:30 pm. How positively French. Her ultra-feminine voice sang the noises with which I struggle so fiercely, like the “u” sound, which I can only make if I pucker my lips and squeak an “oo” sound (as in tooth), and the “r” sound, which I hit with such exaggerated puissance that I often draw phlegm.

I felt an irrational jealousy of the French woman on the bus. She could speak to my husband in his native language like I never will. She could listen to him speak his native language and understand perfectly. All those linguistic nuances that my husband and I miss, she would catch. I decided right then that I will sign up for French Level 3, and renew my determination to master the French language. And, I will look for a pair of dangling gemstone earring, and renew my commitment to black shirts. It’s really the best look for me, after all.

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