I'm such an easy target. My host parents -- especially my host father -- love to joke around. They've duped me time and again. Ah, I'm too naive, I say.
But think about it: French is not my native language. France is not my native country or culture. And I must admit that I'm a city girl (a Parisienne, my host parents laugh). So, I'm an easy target.
I've gotten much better at recognizing my host father's plaisanteries. A good rule of thumb is to disbelieve everything he says until further notice. I don't want to judge, though, so when he says he wants eight boiled eggs for lunch, okay! Not my place to scorn your food choices, right? Duped again.
It's when S, the mother, tries to pull the wool over my eyes that I fall hard. The other day, at a meal outdoors, she remarked that a chicken had just crowed. "That means she just laid an egg!" she said. Ah, really? I responded, caught off guard by an attack from an unexpected foe. My host family's suppressed laughter quickly showed me my error.
I reassure myself that, were any of the above factors removed, I would not believe so readily. But that probably isn't actually true.
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My host family says that I fit right in here in France -- as long as I don't open my mouth. People seem to enjoy trying to guess my nationality. No one's gotten it right yet, so I'm hoping that means my accent is vague/please-oh-please not obnoxiously strong? I've gotten English many times, German twice, and Polish once. (I walked into a family's antique shop and they immediately concurred among themselves that I was Polish. What?)
Today, I biked to another small town to explore a bit, and was perusing the city map when a couple pulled over to ask directions to an exposition taking place. No, I couldn't help them, but yesss.
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