house of happy

Life adventures in prose and verse. Explorations of places, people and words. Stories and fun.

Thursday, 29 March 2012

44 days, 29

Afternoon with Kiwi. We need to give her her time in the big busy world, or else she wilts. So Cheeta goes to the gym and I hit the town with Mademoiselle Señorita. Ironic nickname explained by the fact that she speaks only French and Spanish. When I suggest stuff to do, she says – with a flick of the wrist – 'no me gusta'! When she suggests stuff to buy (and I do) she says – with a little elegant nod – 'merci beaucoup' (well, her 'beaucoup' is more like 'vodkoo', which sounds like 'vodka' in the masculine form).

Every time she says 'no me gusta', she would add with a sigh 'Oh, I LOVE Spanish'. With 'merci beaucoup' it would change to 'Oh, I LOVE French'. It turns out she can't decide what foreign language to choose next year. Any discussion of her dilemma ends with: 'Anything but English!' I point out that English is not exactly a foreign language to her.

We play ping-pong in the park (I win the point: 'no me gusta'! She wins the point: 'merci beaucoup'); we stop at the café (she gets a small cake: 'merci beaucoup', she takes a sip of my coffee: 'no me gusta'); I suggest we go to Bimca to check out some bathroom tiles: 'no me gusta'. She suggests we go to the market to check out summer dresses, and we go: 'merci beaucoup'.

The lady's not French, this is true,
But she always says 'merci beaucoup'
She acts very chic,
At some market boutique
But they say 'only cash', so adieu!

The lady's not Spanish, but would
quickly say 'no me gusta' to food,
to people, to chores
to rain, crashing bores,
to me: wait a minute! That's rude!


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