Speaking of Donn and his beret and his faux-French accent (why do you think he has this outRRRageous accent?), I have bad news: the accent is contagious. People, especially males between about 35 and 60, (ok, only males) see the beret and they just go off. “Ah, oui!” they shout at him. It’s getting a bit old.
But yesterday morning, he ran into a friend of ours, an older woman, and she said, “Now Donn, you’re looking very French. Maybe a little too French.”
We love this. We’ve been saying that to each other ever since. “Maybe a little too French,” he says when I ask if a certain outfit looks good, or I say when he asks my opinion on his new business card. But she was serious. And it got me thinking about the propensity of older women to be, well, frank with those younger than themselves about what might be considered personal choices.
This reminded me, inevitably, of our time in France. French older women are unstoppable. They wear black, of course, and high-heeled boots, and they have immaculate silver hair and lipstick and tiny dogs on long leashes, and they have no qualms about approaching complete strangers and telling them what they’re doing wrong with their lives. This happened to us. One Saturday, on the way home from school (children go to school on Saturday in France. That just ended the romance for you right there, didn’t it?) we stopped in at our favorite coffee shop to pick up some freshly-roasted beans (still warm) and the proprietor of the shop gave each child a sucette, a lollipop, as a treat. They wandered happily down the cobblestone alleys, eating their candy , and an older woman stopped Donn and I to tell us off. “It will ruin their teeth!” she told us firmly. “They should not eat hard candy.”
Of course we didn’t think of the good answers till several blocks later. “It helps them quit smoking,” Donn muttered. “It’s just their baby teeth!“ I riposted. But it was too late. She was gone from our lives, leaving us just a little bit flabbergasted.
Another time, we were stopped in the park and reprimanded because Abel’s coat was not zipped. It was a raw March day and he was wearing a t-shirt, sweater, and coat, and running at full steam, since we were (once again) late for school. This was not the same woman, but another one who took it upon herself to help us raise our children, since presumably hers were in prison or living on the streets.
But I was also a tiny bit envious. I want to be like this. I want to be able to tell complete strangers how to live their lives, and do it with such imperviousness, such command, such confidence. I’m just not there. I’m too nice.
My theory is that you are comfortable telling people the age of your kids what to do. I could never be bossy to a 20 year old, for example, but when the kids next door lost their house key and came to hang out till their mum came home from work, I had no problem telling them they could eat oranges but not candy and not to jump on the furniture. Carry that out 20 years, and I could see myself stopping people on the street and telling them that pajamas are actually meant only for sleeping in and look comic and wrong when worn in public.
So when I’m an old woman, I’m not going to wear purple. I shall wear a long black coat and burgundy lipstick, get a small dog, and sail the streets, telling people what to do.
Looking forward to this might make the aging process a little easier to bear.
Because right now, it really sucks. Elliot has been exercising for 4 days now and is already noticeably trimmer and sailing up the hill, leaving me gasping in his wake. It almost makes me want to be 12 again.
almost too French, non?
20 comments
January 13, 2008 at 11:43 pm
Robin
You know, if you came over to Israel you could do that without having to wear black or getting a tiny little dog. Even the lipstick is optional. People here have no compunctions WHATSOEVER about telling you what is wrong with your life. Everything from “how much did you pay for your house? That much?!? You got ripped off!!” to “that baby (that is sleeping so peacefully in his sling) is terribly uncomfortable, not to mention you’re smothering him. You must take him out right away!”
I’ve gotten fairly used to it over the years, but I admit that I was pretty horrified last week when I found myself telling a friend what was wrong with a decision she’d made.
January 14, 2008 at 12:43 am
Steph
I woke up this morning, day #2 with Jeremy gone, and read your blog. I chuckled, as always, at your story. BUT, then, I saw the picture. Thank you, you have made my day. I will be able to handle the bad driving/sand blowing/kids crazy/I’m tired with the mental image of Donn and his beret burned in my head. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I can’t even comment on the artistic nature of the photograph, just Donn in a beret-acting like he really thinks he can pull off a beret. Jeremy will be so happy to see this photo too. Today should go well…
January 14, 2008 at 3:51 am
Veronica Mitchell
Yesterday in church an old lady told me that her grandson had given his new baby girl a horrible name – Addison- and, when I told her my baby’s name, told me she didn’t approve of that one either.
January 14, 2008 at 4:40 am
Rebecca
I like the idea of wearing a black coat and telling everyone what to do MUCH better then wearing purple and those horrible red coats. Gah.
I’ve encountered so many bossy old ladies in my day that I have dozens – likely more – of stories of rudely helpful comments about all numbers of things. Perhaps it’s the large French-Canadian population?
January 14, 2008 at 4:55 am
Linda
I live in France but, other than dirty looks, I haven’t had anyone tell me what to do or how to live-yet. I did have an older woman run over my foot with her grocery cart and look at me like it was my fault for being in her way. I saw the cutest little old lady today with a fabulous frilly umbrella, a colorful dress, a fur jacket and a funny fur hat and really bright red lipstick on her mouth, heavy eye makeup, heavy jewelry. I entertained myself for about ten minutes just looking at her in a cafe where we sat.
January 14, 2008 at 7:49 am
gretchen from lifenut
Loved this post. It was LOL funny.
Why is it we only think of snappy comebacks after the Lady in Black is long gone?
January 14, 2008 at 8:23 am
Kelly @ Love Well
Oh Don.
Mais oui. Too French.
(Does his accent sound like Pepe Le Pew? Because that’s what I’m hearing in my head.)
This is just a perfect post. Too, too funny.
January 14, 2008 at 9:13 am
LIB
What a cool picture! Donn is not the only artiste in the family.
I think Donn can pull off the beret-look. I think it is JUST THE RIGHT amount of Frenchness. Neither too French, nor not French enough.
January 14, 2008 at 9:26 am
Pieces
“sail the streets”–perfect imagery. I just love this post. That photograph is crafted so well. I think you need to stop saying that Donn is a photographer and say that you are both photograpers.
And I love the beret–he wears it so well.
January 14, 2008 at 10:48 am
Wacky Mommy
I would fit in so well in France, non?
LOVE the photo.
January 14, 2008 at 11:48 am
Mr. Mccoy
I will join you in the streets with my wee french doggie.
January 14, 2008 at 3:28 pm
Buzz McCoy
The missus posted that comment above, even though it says mister.
Personally, when I’m an ole fellar, I’m a goin’ eat lipstick, sleep in a black coat, eat dogs, and, by cracky (!), keep a tellin’ folks what to them thar do.
January 14, 2008 at 3:32 pm
cce
The French are full of wisdom…my favorite comes from an old woman who was my husband’s landlord when he was an exchange student in college. It goes something like, once a woman is forty she must choose between her butt and her face, both cannot look good at the same time. (This was her way of saying that if pudgy – a woman’s face looks smooth and flushed and nice but her butt is a disaster, if thin – her face is one big wrinkle while her rear end is exceptional.
And that Donn looks pretty swell in a beret. Nice shot, the shadows and light on the table are just beautiful.
January 15, 2008 at 7:30 am
AuthorMomWithDogs
Oui, too French! Perhaps it’s also the serious face along with the side-tilt rather than front-tilt of beret. But a front-tilt would be too Irish. LOL.
I think you may be on to something with needing to have others be the age of our kids before we’d say something.
Me? I’ll be wearing hole-y sweaters and muck boots with a couple of medium sized dogs running free. : )
January 15, 2008 at 2:28 pm
Louise
But Donn doesn’t smoke, does he? How can he be TOO French?
January 15, 2008 at 2:59 pm
suburbancorrespondent
Me, too! Thanks for giving me something to look forward to….
January 15, 2008 at 10:19 pm
Jolyn
Ok, just caught up on a couple of your posts and it’s now after midnight and I am apparently completely addicted to the tetris game geography style. My 12-year-old is back in American school after three years in Italian and I can’t wait to “assign” him the US game as a way of getting him more in balance. I wonder how he’ll do on the Europe version (maybe not as well as I would imagine?!).
January 16, 2008 at 12:19 am
meredith
Ha! I took a mutual decision with a friend, that, when we get old we’ll throw our healthy (yeah, right) life styles right out the window. She’s going to take back up smoking cigarettes, but those long thin ones in a holder…and I am going to sip champagne, often…
January 17, 2008 at 7:07 am
Jeana
I adore this post.
January 30, 2008 at 6:05 am
Linda C
J’adore la post? (Three years of hs French, and I’m 45, cut me some slack.) Great post. First time here.