Purple Sunday, Hedgehogs, and Places Oats Should Never Be

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Brain dead.

We had six hours of French lessons yesterday.  Nothing too intense, but sitting on my arse for the 6th day in a row was getting to me.

I did do a quick bounce to the boulangerie (bakery) for a whole grain baguette between classes - but that was only 20 minutes of movement.

In the absence of a gym, and having sent my yoga mat back to the states, my exercise thoughts waxed creative and turned to "What would Rocky (IV) do in a deserted cabin in Siberia while training to fight this hunk of meat guy during the good old Cold War days?"

So I immediately set out to cut down some trees out back, carry them up a hill - both ways - in a blinding snowstorm, dragging an ox cart behind me, grunting all the way.  Then came home to build a fire and do decline sit-ups in front of it. 

Yeaaahhhh - Not so much ... although I wish I did have a fireplace - I could really go for burning things right now...

I was a little run down and trying to stave off whatever crud is going around here.  Tout le monde est malade (everyone here is freaking sick) and my inner germaphobe has kicked in in full force and disinfecting operations are underway daily.  With all the traveling coming up in the next few weeks, if I get sick Je serai foutou (I'll be screwed).

The Siberian training plan would have to wait another few days. Instead, I whipped out my trusty fouet  and made a batch of minestrone, opened a bottle of Fitou, curled up under a blanket, turned on the TV.

Hedgehogs - Notice similarity between them & Dolph's do, above.

Outside game shows, cartoons, and an exposé on the upside of being unemployed, gotta say, this was the best thing I'd seen on TV all week.  The French word for hedgehog is hérisson and it is permanently emblazoned on my brain after the mating footage.  Just too cute.  As were the scenes where the one is cleaning himself and ends up in a ball rolling down a lush green hillside (giggles all around) ... OOH - or where he rolls onto an apple and it's stuck on his back and he's rolling around trying to get it off.  Then there was the scene where the serpent venemeux (rattlesnake) tried messing with the hérisson - the hérisson won, by the way!

F-Word Alert: It is very important not to confuse the following:

- fou (crazy)

- fouet (whisk) 

- foutou (screwed/hosed)

- Fitou (an appellation from the Languedoc-Roussillon region of France made primarily with Carignan, Grenache, and a little Syrah & Mourvèdre).  

Later, some good old-fashioned brain dead entertainment was the Miss France Pageant.  I can no longer watch pageants without recalling scenes from Miss Congeniality.  (By the way - that movie's been out for 10 years now!  I first saw it Christmas Day 2000 in Honolulu and it's a favorite.)  My only thoughts - why, when they cry, do their noses not turn red and their faces blotchy? Just curious.  When I cry it looks like Rudolph mated with a giraffe.  And congratulations Miss Bretagne - better get crackin' on that world peace situation, K?

Just a minute, I need another glass of fou foutou Fitou, (crazy screwed wine).  See what I mean?

{♫ humming, bad singing, ♪ un uovo sodo, senza te ♫}

OK I'm back.

So here it is Sunday.  YAWN.

This morning I got up and realized my only clean clothes were purple.  I was saving the calzini viola (purple socks) for Sunday because every time I wear them Fiorentina wins their soccer matches.  My friend in Florence sent me a text, "Mi raccomando Domenica.......calzini viola!!! :-)"  (Sunday, please wear your purple socks!)

So, why not pull out all stops.  Sporting the purple turtleneck, sweater, and - yep - the fleece jacket is purple too Barney the bitchy purple dinosour I took off for the centre port to do laundry.  Evviva! (Whoo hoo!)

Forza Viola!  

Apologies to the two older gentlemen who witnessed the strange purple lady jamming in Italian to Zucchero's new CD at the folding table.  I thought I had the entire port to myself this morning.  My bad.

One more thing...

Oat Warning: When you buy whole grain baguettes make sure there are no grains in the bottom of your tote.  I shook it out, but apparently not good enough.  After my laundry was finished, fluffed, and folded, I stuffed them into my tote only to find oats in my gutchies when I got home. 

Seriously.

That's all I got.  Hedgehogs, bad French, oats in my panties, and one more for the road ...

 Forza Viola!

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