[Picking up on where I left off, last post, I had lost a hat, was wearing one sock and had just been served Cervelle d’Agneau which I thought was lamb cutlets]
I leaned forward to The Husband and whispered, “I think them’s the thoughts of cows,” referencing David Sedaris in Me Talk Pretty One Day. But he can’t hear me and I can’t say it louder so I simply stare down my first bite. Noting the squiggly texture of the meat, it’s confirmed: Them’s the thoughts of lambs. I had ordered lamb brains.
I ate that shit. Once outside the restaurant between the heaves and retching I manage, “I’m pretty sure those were brains”. He says, “Yeah. I saw cervelle and I thought cerebral so I assumed brains”.
I guess he thought I knew French. And I get that. Because I’ve had years of schooling. And OH, YEAH, I keep haughtily correcting his French. “Don’t Pronounce The Sssss!” I might snark, which is his signal to bow and address me as ‘Me Lady’.
Okay. I’ve been less than a model of modesty. Also, I’ve been pretty content with my passable French. But mostly, I’ve been catching up on some reading. So, yeah, I got lazy. It cost me some lamb brains.
At the apartment, I’m reading another book, this one on Marie Antoinette. The Husband is taking a break from four hours of homework and reading the newspaper. From time to time he pauses to share news with me about the crisis in Greece or the situation in Mali.
I look up, “Wait. Are you reading in French?” He was. He’s had exactly 11 days of French class. I close my book–I already know the ending.
“Let’s study some French, My Lord.”
Pretty sure this is where I lost my hat.