Ahhh….the certainty of it all, here in Aix-en-Provence! Our prices are set. Negotiations? Find the market place, you tightwad. Ours is a shop of fine Egyptian linens and Italian shoes. And just to make sure you understand our philosophy, I am wearing my blue silk scarf and feigning interest. After all, I’m French.
Oh. I see you with your camera and your kind face. I also see that (with awkwardness) you must hand your buttery croissant to your accommodating husband so that you might photograph me. Do so at your whim, Madame.
You are surprised. I can see this in your expression. You were expecting, perhaps, a country of French Poodles everywhere? I know what you are thinking, but don’t say it. Yes, during World War II (so my English ancestors–the West Highland White Terriers of Britain told me), we French did choke on courtesy and cowardice. But don’t hold it against us now.
Oh. You are not? Splendid. You’ve found us charming and friendly.
You will come back?
Merci, my Cherie.