Join Me in Snarkville

I have so many stories to share, but I’m going to briefly say hello with this one brief one.

Sitting outside at a cafe, I casually mention to Prince, “I noticed that really the French don’t do finger foods.”

Him: “Wha…”

Me: “Well, maybe it avoids having to touch foods since now that I think about it, we didn’t wash our hands before we ate and we were climbing all those stairs and touching handrails.” (sidenote: I’m icked out by that just remembering it — please don’t think ill of me — I can’t believe I did that.)

Him: “Honey, what do you think you are going to catch? French*?

Well, NO — I don’t think I’m going to catch French, but I am not so sure about the things the tourists might carry….

* In thinking about it, I think “catching French” can be summed up best by “becoming a cheese loving surrender monkey” — I already like cheese — let’s not push the rest.  (Oh, and you know the middle of the French Flag is white, right?  It is so surrender in easy no matter where you are — heck, I think Prince and I conquered a neighborhood or two…  I jest…mostly.