The Brushing of the Teeth
I have just been reading on Laura's blog about how she accidentally used her brother's toothbrush and was - quite correctly - horrified. Shared toothbrushes are one thing that I really don't like - - just makes me go ewwwwwwwwwww noooooo.
In the queue to check-in at Charles de Gaulle Airport today (that's in PARIS, because I've been to PARIS, did I mention it?) I found myself a kind of Daphne Sandwich between two French women who were talking past me to each other whilst encroaching greatly on my personal space.
The one behind me kept banging into my rucksack in a very irritating manner.
The one in front of me kept swinging her handbag into any bit of me which is to be found at the front above my navel and below my head (you notice how delicately I put that? Clearly Paris has given me some sort of refinement).
They were arguing about what you'd use to brush your teeth in England. The one behind thought it was a toothbrush. The one in front thought it was a teethbrush. (Going from the French, you see - brosse a dents, plural: logical - - but so wrong.)
After some discussion Teethbrush Woman declared herself correct, with just one final assault on my frontage by her handbag.
At which point Big Gob here had to open it and say mildly, "Actually, I'm English and it's toothbrush and can you STOP BANGING INTO MY TITS PLEASE?" (Okay, I said the first bit but not the second, because of my new Parisian refinement.)
On the plane I was sitting in aisle 8, seat E.
Can you guess, firstly, who was sitting in seat D?
And, secondly, can you guess who was sitting in seat F?
Yes, I thought you could probably work it out. It was elbows all the way.
In the queue to check-in at Charles de Gaulle Airport today (that's in PARIS, because I've been to PARIS, did I mention it?) I found myself a kind of Daphne Sandwich between two French women who were talking past me to each other whilst encroaching greatly on my personal space.
The one behind me kept banging into my rucksack in a very irritating manner.
The one in front of me kept swinging her handbag into any bit of me which is to be found at the front above my navel and below my head (you notice how delicately I put that? Clearly Paris has given me some sort of refinement).
They were arguing about what you'd use to brush your teeth in England. The one behind thought it was a toothbrush. The one in front thought it was a teethbrush. (Going from the French, you see - brosse a dents, plural: logical - - but so wrong.)
After some discussion Teethbrush Woman declared herself correct, with just one final assault on my frontage by her handbag.
At which point Big Gob here had to open it and say mildly, "Actually, I'm English and it's toothbrush and can you STOP BANGING INTO MY TITS PLEASE?" (Okay, I said the first bit but not the second, because of my new Parisian refinement.)
On the plane I was sitting in aisle 8, seat E.
Can you guess, firstly, who was sitting in seat D?
And, secondly, can you guess who was sitting in seat F?
Yes, I thought you could probably work it out. It was elbows all the way.
posted by Daphne at 12:31 am
2 Comments:
I just about spat my coffee there. Thank you so much for your posts. They definitely brighten my day!
When you get here, (insert me jumping up and down trying not to spill said coffee as we're a bit excited that YOU'RE COMING TO AMERICA), I'll tell you about my run in with a French man when we went to Paris. There were bags and heads (instead of tits) involved. They weren't mine though!
I lol'd.
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