"He'll sit there and go, Dipsy... Po... Dipsy... Po. I honestly don't think he knows colors. Just Teletubbies."


What Happens During 1.5-Hour French Classes

Well, not much of anything, to be perfectly honest, but hilarity abounds. This is due to the fact that we watched a very 80s video with an evil abusive old man. Well, that's what it looked like in fast forward, which is how we watched all but five minutes of it. This led Pencil Case into leading Madame into reminiscing about her childhood in the 80s and her leg warmers.

Madame: The 80s were bad everywhere. They were a time when people put colors together that did not belong. And the hair. Seriously, people would but glue, as in paste, in their hair. And if you ran into something, well, you would just bounce right off.

Then Girly Sweater randomly joined our class for about a minute as he wandered the halls.

Madame: Yo, Girly Sweater, what's up?

I also took an absolutely adorable picture of Chellie, which she agrees is adorable but will not let me post on here because she is afraid of having a stalker. Oh, well. I guess I'll follow her orders, lest she said a man with a mullet and plaid pants after me.

Poowder Puff game today. This is rather invigorating, despite that it will likely result in injuries and/or humiliation on my behalf. Oh, well. I think La Mere might be coming, because she got excited that I might have some minimal athletic talent. (For those of you who do not know, my mother was-- and still is-- one of those extremely athletic, multiple-sports, team-spirit-team-captain girls. She's also very creative and logical, all of which leads to a crazy combination that equals La Mere, but I think she is secretly somewhat disappointed in my lack of athletic skills and coordination.)

Okay. Time to go. The 25 of the minutes, they go by the fast. [<-Manolo-speak]


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