State of the Union

Yesterday my wife and I commemorated our wedding anniversary.
To redeem my (somewhat tarnished) standing with feminists, I invited her to a French restaurant.
I think that women like this kind of attention, but don’t go by what I am saying, because after many years of matrimony I am still uncertain about what makes the other camp “frétiller du croupion » or “wag their tail” as some would say.

IMG_8198Every year, like the president of the United States, I try to assess the State of our Union. And like the Gipper I ask myself: am I better off today than I was 10 years ago?

Let me see…

Since I got married I lost most of my hair… and many pétanque tournaments… I incurred a stubborn case of Plantar Fasciitis… I lost a tooth and last week I woke up with a severe backache.
Would all these calamities have occurred if I had remained single?

I don’t know, but you must admit that this does not look good for the defendant. Because I ask you ladies and gentlemen, who else could possibly be responsible for this rerun of the Ten Plagues of Egypt?

But for lawyers who defend indefensible cases, things could easily be turned around.
The babes’ mouthpiece would probably start by quoting an old (always women-friendly) Arab proverb that goes something like “Life is a desert and the woman is the camel that helps man to cross it”.
Meaning: without your camel you would probably die of thirst in the middle of the desert.
Point well taken counselor.

But what about my ache-free bachelor days, and why did the Ten Plagues of Egypt befell me AFTER my marriage?
Warranties expire soon or later would say Gloria Allred, and it looks like yours expired more than a decade ago.
Crap!

So how is the State of my Union? Mainly tolerable, but like many unions it sometimes erupts in fights.

But why fight? According to Georges Feydeau, “Why contradict a woman? It is much easier to wait until she changes her mind.”

So anyway, I have decided to renew my marriage contract, hoping that Water turning to Blood, Frogs, Gnats or Lice, Flies, Livestock Diseased, Boils, Thunder and Hail, Locusts, Darkness and Death of the Firstborn will avoid my household and strike bigger sinners than me.

And finally,

“Woman is, according to the Bible, the last thing that God made. He probably did it on Saturday night, and you can feel the fatigue.”

I did not say that, Alexandre Dumas son did.

Alain

 

 

Going commando

I just read that retired Desperate Housewife Eva Longoria had a “dress malfunction” and was “humiliated” (like so many other actresses) when it was discovered that she was going “commando” under her party dress.

I am a little non-plussed about the humiliation angle.
Going panty-less is clearly a calculated move –I don’t think that one “forgets” to put panties on- and the “embarrassing” revelation reeks of blatant attention seeking.

When I dress in the morning, I could very well bypass my Jockey shorts but I must admit that it would definitely be intended to titillate (and please) my legions of fans.

I have an inquiring mind and I don’t sleep well if burdened by unanswered questions.
I often wonder what prompts women to go “commando”…
Is it a ventilation problem, is it really to avoid showing panty lines, or does it have a little something to do with the delicious guilty pleasure of exhibitionism? The secret desire to flash and thrill unsuspecting crowds?

In Hollywood, as everybody knows, “the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about” and an actress needs to promote herself.
I do believe that “dress malfunctions” were conceived by some creative movie star agent, for a 30 seconds malfunction (see Janet Jackson) is worth a hundred pictures and each picture is worth in turn a thousand words.
Not a bad return for a 30 seconds flash-by.

For my part, when looking for a thrill, I sometimes intentionally wear only one sock and eagerly wait to be found out. I then pretend to be “humiliated” when the dark deed is “accidentally” discovered.
Oh, but don’t I love the fuss!
Pétanque star caught showing bare ankle, scream the trade mags…
I might lose tournaments, but people are talking about me, and for a publicity hound “there is no such thing as bad publicity.”

And that’s probably what “commando raids” are all about. The irrepressible craving for thespians to be noticed and gossiped about.

Personally, I am sometimes (for a fleeting moment) tempted to show my wares to the public, but I am also aware that familiarity breeds contempt and that national treasures should be protected and shown sparingly.

So for the time being, don’t expect any time soon any dress malfunction from my part (unless my agent urges me to show a little more skin of course).

Alain

 

Michel la Honte

A long time ago I was drafted in the French Army and sent to a rather inhospitable place in North Africa.
Our base was located on a mountainous peak overlooking a valley, and it was very hot in the summer and extremely cold in the winter.

Every two months a fresh batch of recruits would join us, and servicemen who had done their mandatory 28 months tour of duty would leave the base and go home.
The arrival of new recruits was always a big event that would break the monotony of our daily lives and make us temporarily forget the inherent danger of our situation.

One day a new batch arrived at our camp and one fellow immediately caught our attention. He was a Parisian like me and was doing a perfect imitation of a then famous French comedian named Darry Cowl.

Darry Cowl’s main shtick was his well-honed stuttering, and the new recruit whose name was Michel did a perfect imitation
He spoke with a superb stutter and kept us in stitches for hours.

At the end of the day though, some guys got tired of his shtick and asked him to stop. But Michel couldn’t put an end to it; we discovered that it was his natural way of speaking.
After realizing this, many people started picking on him and hazed him mercilessly.

But Michel was used to it and took it good-naturedly.

He was originally from a neighborhood called “Les Batignolles” and constantly referred to it just like Americans would refer to Brooklyn.
After a while everybody started calling him “Michel des Batignolles”.

Michel also had a favorite expression. When something upset him, he would loudly exclaim “la honte!” (the shame!). So after a while everybody started addressing him as “Michel la Honte” (Michel the Shame).

IMG_0002When we were not trudging in the field, we were staying in some ugly barracks covered with corrugated iron.
This kept us very hot in the summer and very cold in the winter.

I was bunking by the door and very often people would forget to close the door after entering or leaving the shack.
Everybody would then yell “the door, the door!”

Michel was not any better than the others and he often left the door open behind himself.

One day, exasperated by what I saw as callous negligence, I told Michel:
-If you leave the door open one more time, I swear, I will shoot you!
He laughed it up.

Knowing that this would happen again, I prepared for it.

I grabbed a pistol and a single cartridge.
I extracted the bullet from the cartridge and replaced it with a small paper pellet.
I then introduced the cartridge in the pistol’s chamber and waited.

As expected, Michel soon entered the room and left the door open behind him.
I screamed “the door!” to which Michel answered by an expletive.

I said, “you asked for it”, pointed the pistol at him and fired.

There was a loud noise but of course no bullet left the chamber.
Michel remained stunned and totally speechless for at least a minute.
You son of a bitch, he finally managed to say. You could have killed me. I felt the bullet whizzing by…

I just laughed and told him that I had removed the bullet from the cartridge before firing.

He was not convinced and swore that he heard the bullet whizzing by.
He then challenged me to a fight behind the barracks in late afternoon.

I couldn’t decently refuse.
I went there but La Honte never showed up.

I later apologized to him and we made up. We even managed to become friends.

In retrospective, I should never have played such a stupid prank, but as I now often say “when you are in your twenties, half of you brain is still missing”.

Alain