This weekend the Chambres D'Hotes was PACKED with loud drunk French people. Good LORD was this random group of people a terrible combination. After Brigitte and I busted our asses to feed this high maintenance bunch of assholes, we relaxed equally as hard. The wine was flowing, we were cheersing for everything and giggling like school girls. While the guests finished up, we figured it was time for a much needed French lesson. This lesson was all about bad words since we only had bad things to say about these guests, but it was the explanations that were the best. We were trying to translate between the French words for hookers, whores, and different "body parts" I will say (mom sensor, please use your imagination) for women in these professions. Never have I ever shot any sort of liquid out of my nose, but I managed to shoot red wine out of my nose and the corners of my mouth simultaneously. It was a terribly disgusting site and painful as well, hopefully no one else will ever see me do that again. Then I got the good idea that once Brigitte's son Jean arrived the next day, I should try out some of my new words. Brigitte is a fantastic mom, so she loved this idea. I had forgotten until the next day at lunch that this was the plan, but I quickly remembered when Jean made the mistake of making a fat joke while I was eating. Bad move, Jean, bad move. I leaned over to Brigitte and asked her to remind me of the meanest word we learned the night before, she got a little red, but then whispered it in my ear. In front of Brigitte, Philippe, Jean's sister and cousin and of course him...I looked him straight in the eyes and called him something that I don't even think I can translate, but I was assured that it was terribly mean. The table got quiet...I wasn't sure if I was going to get punched in the nose or throat, but luckily the silence turned into laughs and the swearing just continued. Phew! If there is a souvenir I want from France, it's not a black eye and so far I can still say, no black eyes for me.
Now, onto the drinking and more drinking in the title (mom, if you email me again about the evils of drinking, so help me sweet baby Jesus...).Anyway, this wall that was built and has been celebrated with at least a dozen bottles of wine already was to be celebrated yet AGAIN. Two English couples came over on Monday for lunch to toast the completion of the wall. I am finding out, that everything more impressive than a giant shit is celebrated multiple times. Why not? It gives a reason to drink. So starting at noon, we get into about 6 bottles of champagne. Then we have duck and pig skewers waiting, along with salad, some sort of "Catholic" dish that Philippe's family has been making for years (he is not even a little Catholic, neither is Brigitte but he always talks about the Catholic tradition) and apple pies made by yours truly. There was more food, but all of the drinking kind of blurs it all together. We manage to kill off the 20 liter box of wine, along with cognac and some sort of concoction put together by Philippe once the red wine was out. I checked the clock once we started cleaning up, it's 5pm. Oh Putain! We all head to our rooms for nap time. Then I am awoken, told to get my pants on, we are off to visit some family for more drinking. How am I alive to write this right now you ask...? I have no idea, but it's time for another nap I think.
Smarty pants!!
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