If only I weren't so gullible to the "charm" of the Frenchmen.
CHYEAH RIGHT.
Today marked the end of my classes in France. After two hours of literature in a steamy hot room, the dusty curtains masking the sun that would have otherwise poured through the windows, I was more than ecstatic for a fifteen minute break before my last class of the year. Sitting in the grass with some friends, however, I realized that me being done with classes meant me being done with France.
Sure, I know it's, well, obvious for lack of a better word, but I'm leaving France. Reality hit me on Thursday, leaving my last Langue class ever. I suddenly realized that Florence would stay in France, everyone in my class would leave to their respective countries or stay in France [besides a few Americans, but even them to their own schools]. Stoked to be done with class, reluctant to leave the friends I've made and the culture, language and country that I've fallen in love with for the second time.
To say the least, even though I left my last class with a skip in my step, escaping the high-pitched and constant voice of my professor, I stopped outside the classroom for one last glance.
And by one last glance, I mean I'll be back next week for exams. BOO. Seven exams. How is that even real ?
After leaving the Catho, I went to meet Felix at Haras park to hang out with him and Flo. Felix and I ended up listening to music and laughing while we waited for Flo, who showed up late. Imagine that. A French person being late. I expected 10 or 15 minutes, but this kid was geekin' so badly, he was an HOUR late. No worries, I was happy to see him so I forgave him.
Until he turned into a brat.
In the park they recently planted flowers. As it's been a few days maximum since this happened, the flowers are still attached only to the compacted dirt they came in, and will pull right out attached to a heaping chunk of muddy goodness. First brat move by Flo ? He threw one right at my hip. BOOM. Dirt flew everywhere, got in my cardi's pocket. It only stung for a second. Sweet revenge in the form of a titty twister, and all was golden again.
Until he turned into a RUDE brat.
Another plant-pod. Teasing me at first, I decided to believe him when he said "t'inquiète" ["don't worry"] and assume he wouldn't hit me over the head with the enormous glob of who knows what.
MISTAKE. Paf, on the head. Dirt in my hair, down my shirt, pants, shoes, in my mouth. I was not a happy camper. But it was funny because I was with friends and we were just hanging out. I was the only girl, so naturally I had to take their shit.
Which continued, once more. Flo and I made a pact to not play the dirt on head game anymore, and he helped me brush my clothes clean [sort of]. What do I get for sassing him ? Oh you know, just like, thrown in the bushes. I guess it was about to be thrown, until I pulled some wrestling moves on him, which didn't really work and with the intervention of Felix, we both ended up with leaves all over and scratched up butts and backs.
An interesting ending to the last week of class. Good thing French people crack me up and it was too nice outside to pop a cap.
Friday night, only a week left in Angers ! Holy crap it's approaching quickly. I am pumped.
Tchuss for now.
"To live is like to love - all reason is against it, and all healthy instinct for it."
Samuel Butler
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