Better be woeful...

People have requested more woe and misery, snapshots from our Paris.

Let's see...

Snapshot no. 1.

Tiny tried to apply for a bartending job today. They asked for someone "cool and motivated". Tiny tried. Oh, how she tried.

Marty loudly composing application:

"I consider myself somewhat of a poet."

Later: "I once dislocated my shoulder."

And then finally "I like soup".

I later rewrote her application so that she came off a little more suave.

Snapshot no. 2

Three o'clock, one hour after we've consumed our lunch, we're lying in bed, resting:

"So what are we having for dinner?"

Thirty minutes later:

"How about a snack?"

Snapshot no. 3

This happened about a week ago, as we had just left our prospective future apartment and politely said our goodbyes to the landlord who we thought went the opposite direction. Upon discussing electricity bills, Marty loudly exclaims, in English:

"Where are we gonna get that kinda money!?"

Closely followed by:

"Nude pics!"

Closely followed by: Our landlord strolling past us. It was awkward, but apparently he doesn't mind such business since he later decided to rent us the apartment. He's a humble man.

Snapshot no. 4

This morning...

"Marty, I know where that strange and penetrating foot odour came from. It was from my legs."

Conclusion: I will now try and make my personal hygiene a daily habit.

Snapshot no. 5

We're looking at an apartment. Marty is in the bedroom while Mousse is small-talking with the owner's friend. Owner: not present.

"We are really interested. But I suppose they all say that, right? Right?"

"Um... No, of the forty who's been here only four left their dossier (necessary papers)".

"Oh, really? Well, we are really really interested, aren't we, Marty?"

"Yeah, totally", says Marty while checking out the porn flicks, the black satin sheet-covered matress and the tasteful oil-paintings depicting naked women in various postions.

We didn't get the apartment, but Marty, being impressionable, still walks around mumbling about soft anal massages, as promised by some DVD cover.

Snapshot no. 6

In the métro...

We're in the process of moving our extremely overweight suitcases, Marty is struggling to get down the stairs with hers and Mousse, carrying only a backpack at the moment, is walking unworriedly behind her, speaking English:

"Are you gonna fall? You are! Aren't you? You're totally gonna fall. And break all your legs. You're gonna bleed. Bleed all over the stairs. You disgust me."

"Do you need help?" A friendly French guy has taken pity in the tiny girl with the giant luggage and her unhelpful friend. Mousse gives him the evil eye and Marty has to decline the offer and stumble down yet another set of stairs. Alone.

Snapshot no. 7

Last week...

Mousse has suddenly decided that she wants to try out the walkie-talkies acquired. With a little help from verbal abuse, she forces Marty to go out from the hotel room with the mission of finding the shower.

12 minutes later...

Marty, out of breath: "What happened?"

"Oh... Right, I forgot to turn mine on. Sorry."

"I was down in the freaking reception, making an ass of myself!"

"Jeez, I said I was sorry. Get over it."

(Marty falls silent, suffers, binge-eats cookies.)




_______________________

We are happy.