In preparation for our long-delayed honeymoon, I took it upon myself to learn as much French as possible, so that I could read street signs and not offend waiters with my horrid attempts to order blocks of cheese. I had nine full months to do this, and living in the modern age, there are countless resources available to achieve this on the cheap and convenient. Three weeks from the trip, I felt pretty good. I know the days of the week and can name a bunch of different meats. Then yesterday I realized I hadn’t learned the word for “happy,” and now I feel the whole plan was a complete and utter failure.
(I know the words for “cow” and “milk,” so I wouldn’t say it was an “udder” failure. Puns! Zing!) Continue reading