French And 5K

“Perhaps we should try to introductions again?” I suggested. Heather Madame nodded and sat upright on the bench on the back patio of the library. I closed the French conversation guide and followed suit.

Bonjour,” She began for the fifth time.

“Or salut if it’s a friend,” I reminded her.

Oui. Salut...wait…”

We both started laughing. “If I’m just meeting you than why would we have the friend greeting?”

“Yeah, that would be rather odd.”

We referenced back to the little handbook again and for no reason again suddenly sat upright.

“Okay,” Heather said, folding her hands in her lap and dramatically flipping her head to the right, “Two strangers meeting in a posh french cafe!” She whipped her head back around, her honey-shaded hair flipping back over with a suspicious, suave look on her face.

Je m’appelle…” My name is…I thought for a moment, “Marc Anthony!”

Heather broke into chuckles again before returning to composure. I continued:

Comment vous appelez-vouz?” What is your name?

“Cleopatera! Common allez-vous?” How are you?

Tres bien, merci! Et vous?” Very well, thanks! And you?

Tres bien, merci.  Ca va?” Very well, thanks. How is everything?

Ca va.” Everything is fine.

We paused for a moment, empty of anything but bare-essential introductory dialogue from our first french study session in both of our lives. She suddenly grinned and started singing the french part to “Labelle” by Lady Marmalade before we both started laughing again.

We woke up early this morning for cross-training (we’ve decided to dedicate the Summer to getting fit and ready for the 5K in Fort Worth this February, which is going to be one of the first things slashed off of our 20 Before 20 List). Thursday was our first official day of 5K training, and what  pitiful sight we were; huffing and puffing and struggling to take oooonnnneee mmooorreeee ssstepppp. All the while middle-aged men and women (and upper-aged while I’m confessing my lack of jogging skill) passed us up like a hot-rod against a tricycle in mud. Today wasn’t much better.

“Hannah,” Heather said as a group of grey-haired women chatted and sped past us, “We’re being passed by the walkers!”

“Well,” I said as I shook my head in shame, “It’s not as bad as that snail that passed us up a half-mile back.”

Tomorrow we are leaving earlier than usual (around 6:30AM) to get to the park early so we’ll have enough time to stop by our favorite Cafe in the downtown before another couple of hours of french.

Au revoir, a tout a l’heure!

Classic/Hannah-Elizabeth

 

 

 

 

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