Je ne parle pas Francais, bitch

On a day to day basis, not speaking French doesn't bother me at all. The only time I really need to speak French is when we go to Lille to visit Lee's family. And sometimes not speaking French comes in really handy. For example, over the holidays we had the mail carrier, the trash collector, the street cleaner, the neighborhood streetwalker, the baker and the candlestick maker all knock on our door and ask for a tip. I have issues with giving some of these people a tip, so saying something incomprehensible in French while making sure to include the words don't, speak and French did the trick nicely.

When does not speaking French suck? When you are trying to purchase something and have no idea what the word is for the thing you want. The other day I went shopping for some drinking glasses and decided to take a look at the tablecloths while I was there. I walked around until I found the tablecloths section. Because I didn't know what size our table is, I pointed to a table used in a display that was about the same size and asked what size it was. Then I picked out a tablecloth that seemed to have similar dimensions and I went to the register to pay. I felt so proud of myself! I was able to find what I wanted and I even asked some questions. At the last minute I decided to ask the sales person if the tablecloth I was about to purchase would fit a rectangular table. I immediately knew something was off by the look on her face. "Mais non, Madame," she said. "This is a bed sheet, not a tablecloth."