For the first time in almost a month, I conditioned my hair last night. I never mentioned my problem with finding hair conditioner in France. I arrived in Paris at the end of May, and I couldn’t find conditioner anywhere. The Monoprix, Pharmacie, and Franprix only carried shampoo. I couldn’t believe that French people don’t really use conditioner after showering.
Eventually, I found a bottle of apres-shampooing at the 8 a Huit supermarket yesterday, and I was finally able to wash my hair normally. I can already tell my hair is cleaner and healthier. There are so many things I’ll be grateful for when I return home. An abundance of water and conditioner are among the things I’ll appreciate having at my disposal.
Last night, I played cards with the little girls in my French host family. They were playing Menteuse, the French version of the American card game, Bull Shit/BS. The girls played the game slightly differently, but I knew the drill. Menteuse means liar in French.
The older sister, Marine was very considerate to speak slowly and make sure I understood the rules. Her little sister was like, “Laura understands!” every time Marine would slow down and ask me, “tu comprends?” Do you understand? I’ve never met an 8-year-old who wants to help a non-native speaker so much.
Anyway, I went on to tell the girls that Menteuse is a game in the United States, with a different name of course.
“What’s it called?” the little girls asked.
Silence.
“It’s the French word for ‘liar,’” I lied.
They only know a few basic English words, and I’m not about to add a profane term to their limited English vocabulary!
At eight, my roommate and I watched the little girl’s piano spectactle at the house. Her teacher came over and everything, and she performed in front of the whole family. It was really cute.
The class went to Montmartre today. The film Amelie was filmed in Montmartre, which reminds me of San Francisco. There are lots of steep hills, old buildings, and charming city activity. Montmartre only made me miss the bay area more. I’m going to have trouble ever leaving California after graduation. As much as I love traveling, I do miss absolutely everything about the California lifestyle.
Ava and I went to an amazing Italian restaurant the other night. I ordered the usual Spaghetti Bolognaise, and Ava asked for a pizza with just vegetables. The waiter was confused why Ava didn’t want cheese, but he said it was possible to make her a pizza with only vegetables on top.
Ten minutes later, he brings her a pizza with onions and bell peppers. She had initially asked for more types of vegetables, and when she reminded the waiter of this, he got really huffy and stormed back into the kitchen. Is it really too much to ask to get what you order? I don’t care what culture you’re from-It’s rude to mistreat a customer for asking a question politely. I never buy into blind sympathy for waiters who are rude. You can say they deal with obnoxious tourists, but there’s no excuse for being unnecessarily nasty.
I’ve been reading lots of books lately, and it relaxes me in this sea of chaos.
