KISS AND TELL: CONFESSIONS OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY, VIOLENCE, AND CRUELTY

Sometimes I go through cycles where I'm kind of going crazy and can't sleep and I've got one page left in my journal and though I've got another one slotted to take it's place as an appendage to my body as I'm quite obsessive over journaling and documenting, sometimes to the chagrin of those around me––I can't write on that last page. Not tonight. Tomorrow morning, maybe, when I make myself wake up early despite the horror of it, the welcome fatigue that will invite me to fall back on my pillow––tomorrow morning I'll force myself into an early start with journaling and fresh air and then a large bowl of oatmeal with maple syrup.

It is hard to find oatmeal in France, not impossible, but you must hunt it down in the specialty sections in grocery stores. That was a surprise to me. What was also a surprise is that what they translate as brown sugar is really cane sugar and seems to never have had a whiff of molasses.

Another surprise was that all my training in French class of learning "Je m'appelle..." (my name is...) and "Je vous présente..." (Allow me to introduce...) has come to null. Was it silly of me to expect that as a strange foreigner showing up in a house full of people that I would be formally introduced to anyone? Instead, complete strangers would walk up to me, kiss me on each cheek and say, "Philip" or "Christine." It was hard to realize through the cloud of confusion that people were telling me their names. I wasn't sure at first if I was missing some type of greeting or casual small talk, all French was blurring together in the first few months here. You see, it's as if a stranger walked up to you, and while shaking your hand said, "Apple." Did they just say 'apple'? you'd think. Why? What does 'apple' mean? Did we meet once before and apples were involved? Are they asking if I want an apple? What do I say back? And it takes you a few more hours before you realize they said "Alice." It feels a little like that. Because people aren't setting the scene, giving context by saying, "My name is..." 

And then everybody is immediately all up in and kissing your grill.  I couldn't figure out where the line was drawn. I knew people kissed cheeks here but I'd assumed it was saved for friends and family but then it looked like acquaintances were fair game and there were employers kissing employees and my mind was whirling wondering if there was anyone we weren't supposed to kiss. After I'd been in France for only a couple of weeks, while we were still at the vacation home with a steady rotation of friends and family staying with us, I saw a man arrive––he was wearing a plain polo, khaki cargo shorts, and was carrying a large cardboard box. A close friend of the family did bisous with him, that's what the kiss-cheek greeting is called, and I thought, We even kiss the FedEx guy?!?! It turns out this was my boss's brother-in-law who was just arriving and just happened to be carrying something in a box.

Sometimes I can't handle it. Sometimes there are too many people and I know I'll never see them again, they're not close friends of the family and even though they're kissing everybody else I say "Bonjour" and remain at a distance. This is one of the Americanisms I'm most conscious of and can't quite shake. I used to believe that I was fairly pleasant in most situations, if somewhat dull or tactless at times, at least we could say I was fairly pleasant. But now I've seen how easily I can unintentionally be rude or even cruel and there was that time a few months back when I threatened to stab someone with a kitchen knife while holding said kitchen knife only a few inches away from them because they insisted on calling me Emmy. That is in no way my nickname. That's another E's nickname. Anyway, I don't always have to be pleasant.

Now it's time for me to watch a strange movie and then maybe I'll fall asleep to what will really amount to a nap. 

***UPDATE: Watched The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947). I would like my life to be a remake of that movie, I really really really love ghosts. Also, when I was done Netflix suggested I might like Jesse Stone: No Remorse. Make what you will of that.