Two little Boston Terrier girls bring their Momo & Mr.Momo to Paris for a long stay. These are the tales of their very fine adventures.


La Poste by Any Other Name be Post Office

Just when I was getting a little bit homesick, I made the journey to La Poste. And then I wasn't homesick anymore. First, they are rarely open. Sound familiar? Next, the line stretches out the door. Again, familiar. And third, many windows and few postal clerks. Makes you wonder if there is universal Postal training?

I was just buying postcard stamps. I am not sure what she gave me really. I asked if she spoke English (my polite Bonjour, Pardon, Parlez-vous Anglais?) and got a oui. Well good. That helps. But not really, because her sole mastery of English was nodding her head. Honest. Not a word. But the head nod. Perhaps she understood more than she could speak? After all, I showed her the postcards, said to the United States, and she handed me the ten stamps I asked for.

Meantime, Miss L&P are with me and we did not get tossed out which is very different than the US. I would have gotten a picture, but the place was depressingly similar to what we all know a Post Office looks like. And I didn't dare let go because although they were coupled together on the lead, P was engaging in some sort of crazy dog ritual with a very elderly person in line behind us. I am doing my best to keep her from knocking the woman over and poor L was just minding her own business which is hard to do when Tigger is attached to your coupler. Turns out when I looked at Grandma finally, she was egging P on like a champ with a little gleam in her eye. Poor P never had a chance. Like sticking a wad of used chewing gum on the ground 3 inches from the end of her leash. Spastic dog. Finally I gave the Grandma impersonator "the look" and P the short leash, and they both ceased misbehaving.

I really want to send some packages home, but I didn't dare press my luck this time. And then I get back to the itty bitty apt. and find out that the postage should be more than what she sold me. Zut. So if I sent you a postcard (and how would you know Zach and Zander?) sorry if it never gets there. Who knows. Maybe it was discount stamp sale day?

L&P had differing opinions about this experience. First, L requested that we never ever take directions from the pretty girl at the front desk again because that was a very long walk to get to La Poste which is two blocks away. We walked about 10 blocks to get there. Perhaps her grasp of left and right in English is not all that. And P requested Grandma's phone number. P rates the trip a nice big fat 8 because of very cool Grandma and the Yorkie she almost got to eat for snack. L would like to rate the trip a miserable 3 and requests that the coupler be destroyed by any means possible.

1 comment:

Amy said...

hilarious ... i love reading the blog