Foucault you, too
My mom and I were just talking about when she was a hippie and drove through France to get to some commune in Spain where all she did was take Speed for three weeks.
Good to know.
“I was the only one with any French, so I asked this cop outside of Paris how to get to Versailles. He gave me directions then gratuitously insulted my accent.’ “
“That happened to me,” I said, “only it was a waiter who insulted me.”
“Par-don?” my mom asked.
“I was in a café, and I asked for a chocolat chaud,” I explained. “The waiter then told me that c’est pas shuhcuhlah chaud, c’est shohcohlah chaud. Then he made me repeat it after him until he was satisfied. I was mortified.”
What was my mother’s response to this? “At least I was on drugs.”
