Night of the living ranch dressing, and flying cats

We survived the first week with the French exchange student, despite our bad French. While polluting the poor kid with onion rings at a restaurant, Carmen tried to say that she liked the ranch dressing (je l’aime = I like it). Instead, she said je t’aime — I like you. Ranch dressing had become a being.

Yesterday the boys were playing with little Nerf guns, and I tried to say my coat was impermeable to the bullets: “Mon manteau est imperméable aux … euh, Curran, comment-dit-on ‘bullets’?”

Curran: “Fléchettes.”

Me: “Quoi? Les chats?”

Today we go to le champ de citrouilles — the pumpkin patch. I’m sure we can’t possibly mismangle the language there.

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3 thoughts on “Night of the living ranch dressing, and flying cats

  1. Once while I was at a big feast with an extended family in Paris, I was chatting with the grandfather and chuckling at one part of his story to me. The rest of the family was curious to know what he’d said. Moi: “Il raconte des conneries.” Which roughly translates to “He’s crapping on about something stupid.” Whole table dissolved. Very respectful to grandpa. I was clueless thinking I was using witty colloquialism.

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