First Dinner Invitation

I had my first dinner out last night, and as predicted, I fretted about it for days, changed clothes multiple times and flipped out over the hostess gift. (I bought two. And ended up giving her neither one.)

Mado arrived at four and immediately insisted I change shoes. (We were going to take a walk in the country, and despite the fact that I walk in these shoes all the time, she didn't think they were sturdy enough. So I changed.) Then I figured that since it was sunny and warm and I was going to be leaving my bag in the car for a couple of hours, my carefully-selected hostess gift (chocolates) might not fare too well. I'll double up next time. It'll be fine. Right. Right?!?

Off we drove to the country, to walk through the woods. The landscape itself wasn't that different from my dad's plantation* in the wilds of Blount County. As usual, I managed to unintentionally hurt feelings; she asked if I take walks like this at home, and I answered honestly that no, I don't, because I live in the city, and she understood this to mean that I was miserable and wanted to go home and never, ever set foot in the great outdoors again. I figured this out because she kept looking at her watch and saying, "It won't be much longer and we'll be back to the car." Finally I had to drag the topic out in the open and explain that I was enjoying our walk in the country, it's just not something I often have the opportunity to do. She might have believed me, it's tough to say.

And I wish to high heaven I had brought my camera, because at one point we looked up and there were animals in the middle of the trail. She said "calves," but that makes me think of this, when what we were dealing with was more like this. You know, the things professional rodeo guys get paid large amounts of money to wrestle? Yeah, those. Four of them. Staring at us. And then we looked up (the trail was really worn, so the "ground" was about four feet above us) and saw, I swear, the most enormous, gigantic, terrifying bull I have ever seen. Watching us. Thank the Lord there was a fence between us; if not, I'd have wet my pants and started crying.

The "calves," it turned out, were terrified of us. They'd gotten out of their field and were quite obviously trying to find their way back in. They'd run ahead of us, turn around, run ahead, turn around. Finally, two of them found their way back in, but two were still lost and so upset that they decided to run through the barbed wire to get away from us. Sadly, this is not the first time males of any species have had this reaction to me.

After we finished our walk, we headed into the suburbs to Mado's lovely house, where her husband and the next door neighbor were having a beer. I joined them. I met both daughters, who were precious, and after our drink, Mado and I went into the kitchen so we could continue to chat while I watched her prepare dinner. The neighbor's wife and son came by; the son was eager to show off his English (and did quite well!) though at one point his mom looked at me intently and said in French, "Maybe... I'm speaking... too... quickly." This made me feel a bit stupid; I'd thought I was following pretty well, but evidently I missed a cue somewhere.

Dinner was casual and delicious; we chatted for a long time, the girls showed me their "Tiger Beat" style magazines and we discussed (sigh) "High School Musical" and (bigger sigh, with eye roll) "Twilight." Mado loves it, of course, because everyone on this stinking planet loves Twilight except for me. Dessert was a crumble prepared by the 12-year-old daughter with pears from the garden and Kinder Eggs. Rock on.

After dinner came the movie. We chose Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis, which I was really happy about because it was enormously, insanely popular in France last year, and I haven't been able to see it until now. I can say whole-heartedly that the buzz was accurate: it truly is funny.

The premise is this: a postal worker in the south of France fakes a handicap to get a promotion to Saint-Tropez but gets busted. As his punishment, he is... suspended? "Worse," says his supervisor. Fired? "Still worse." He is being sent... to the north. For two years. A fate worse than death!! His wife refuses to go-- she can't possibly leave the south!-- so he will come home every other weekend.

The portrayal of the dismal, wet north is hilarious, and the accent/dialect of the locals is incomprehensible. (Really. Mado's husband had to keep asking me if I understood what was going on and explaining.) Naturally, the punished postal worker eventually finds that the locals are quite friendly and good-hearted, and he's enjoying himself. When he calls home, his wife is convinced he's just trying to make her feel better and insists he tell her the truth, so he makes up stories about how terrible it is. After a few weeks, the wife decides to come visit... and more hilarity ensues.

My favorite part is when Philippe gets fed up that one of his letter carriers is always coming back drunk from his route, so he decides to join him. At every stop in this small town, the residents insist that the mailman come inside to visit, and naturally they're all obliged to offer him "a little something," and he's obliged by courtesy to accept. So Philippe, the boss, gets royally hammered about three stops in, and before long he's knocking on people's doors, his tie around his head, announcing that they have no mail but what have they got to drink?

I've read online that Will Smith bought the international rights to the movie and is going to make an American version called "Welcome to the Sticks," but I really hope that's not the case. Why screw up something that's so charming and funny by trying to translate it? Just go see the original.

Okay, gotta run. French smurfs are on.

*No, my father does not really own a plantation. Come on, people!