Again, from the Parfait Files:
Yesterday, as I convinced my thigh muscles to pleaselordpleasepushthatgiantstackofweightsupandawayfrommybody, Parfait was in an inquisitive mood.
Parfait: "Mademoiselle, I bet you read those magazines about all of the crazy people, like 'Oh, what is he wearing?' and 'What is she doing'...?"
Moi: "Um, are you talking about celebrity magazines?"
P: "Oh, yes, Mademoiselle. They are all about Britney Spears and Brad Pitt."
Moi: (struggling to prevent a large quantity of weight from tumbling backward into my fragile knees and crushing my lower extremities) "Um..."
P: "You know what I think they need to do with Britney Spears?"
Moi: (Setting lock on weight machine as to prevent the aforementioned leg-smashing from happening, knowing that this will be a good one) "No...what?"
P: "I think that she should go to my country."
Moi: (delighted that my prophecy has come true) "You want them to ship Britney Spears to Cameroon? What would she do there?"
P: "Oh, Mademoiselle - she would find peace. Britney Spears could have peace in my land."
I dissolve into laughter.
End scene.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
Swing, batta, batta...
From the Parfait Files...
On Friday, I lugged my tired, germ-ridden body to the gym for the first session in several weeks with the one and only Cameroonian trainer, Parfait.
While exhorting me to pump it up during a particular exercise, Parfait inquired as to whether or not I liked playing any sports besides soccer. I do, and I told him as much. I then added that one sport that I've never, ever, ever been good at is baseball (substitute softball, if you will) - I just lack the stick-ball coordination necessary to even corner first.
To this, Parfait had an immediate response:
"Oh, mademoiselle, I must be slow or maybe retarded because I cannot understand why American men like to take that little stick and hit that ball. I just do not understand."
[Enter signature high-pitched laugh]
I did what anyone would have done in that situation--I dropped my weights and laughed my ass right off.
On Friday, I lugged my tired, germ-ridden body to the gym for the first session in several weeks with the one and only Cameroonian trainer, Parfait.
While exhorting me to pump it up during a particular exercise, Parfait inquired as to whether or not I liked playing any sports besides soccer. I do, and I told him as much. I then added that one sport that I've never, ever, ever been good at is baseball (substitute softball, if you will) - I just lack the stick-ball coordination necessary to even corner first.
To this, Parfait had an immediate response:
"Oh, mademoiselle, I must be slow or maybe retarded because I cannot understand why American men like to take that little stick and hit that ball. I just do not understand."
[Enter signature high-pitched laugh]
I did what anyone would have done in that situation--I dropped my weights and laughed my ass right off.
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