My colleagues Roberto and Lucy are looking at something on the internet. Not too difficult to guess what it is. I jump out of my seat and join them.
Here they are: the Royals. All smiles and Sunday clothes, they surround baby Prince George on the day of his christening.
“What’s. With. The hats?, I exclaim. Seriously, the women look ridiculous!”Talk about putting your foot in your mouth. Not only have I just insulted British fashion, I have also abused Britain’s royal family in the process. I have forgotten, in the heat of the moment, that the British royal family is exempt from my Right of Mockery.
“You really look like a tourist”, my cousin giggles.
She would say that. Standing behind the counter of her little pastry shop in the heart of Cannes, France, she is completely at one with her surroundings. She flaunts the heat, her shoulders bare in her flowing strapless dress, and her hair up in a loose bun. As for me, on my first visit to my hometown in over a year, I have opted for a sleeved t-shirt, a pair of daisy dukes, and a hat.This is tourist attire.
I have discovered the truth about French rudeness.
It happened one evening, as my English boyfriend and I were selecting our dinner from a very extensive menu of wraps in a little shop in central London. We had just begun examining the board, when the waitress asked which wrap I wanted.
“W-w-wait!" I said, overwhelmed by the amount of delicious options, "I haven’t chosen yet.”The waitress turned to my boyfriend to take his order, and it was only when I raised my head to ask for his opinion that I saw the look of horror on his face.
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