A hat incident

Merde. I've been caught in a little bit of a fiddle. Losing my favourite hat and trying to muster against the chill winds, I ran into one of the shops and bought myself a new one. Not a great deal to fret about one might think. But this is a hat with fur lining. Surely nobody sells real fur anymore, I naively thought to myself. Or perhaps the problem was that I didn't consider it at all. The next day, clad in my new very warm hat, someone (who's vegetarian...) asks me if it's real. With a nervous laugh I reply that naturally it's synthetic, I would never wear it if it were real. Up in my room I tear off the hat and tug at the tags inside only to discover that in large print it says "RABBIT FUR". There it was. The symbol of my hypocrisy staring me right in the face, only a few days after considering a second attempt at eating much less meat. Now I'm in a dilemma. I should really discard the hat (not sell it obviously because this would only mean a personal gain and a toss of morality) and buy myself a new one. Right? More research will have to be done...


Though it produced quite the sweat on Monday, afterwards I can laugh at it. To determine my level of French I went to the language school to take a test. Writing an essay on my aspirations, why I was learning French, what I'd done during the vacation etc. The other one was a grammar test. The lady said if it was too easy I should call her and she'd give me another one. Haha, I said I hardly thought that would be the issue... Half an hour later and quite satisfied with my attempt, considering it was about five or six years ago since studying French I present the papers to one of the teachers. She smiles at me and starts looking through my work. Soon it turns into a frown with the question, "You say you've studied French? At school?" Uh-oh. Also, I had to explain my situation in French. Hum hum. Eventually I managed to convince her that my understanding was far better than my ability to express myself (which I believe she had already gathered...) but that I was willing to work hard in order to catch up. Thus my first French class was yesterday morning and I found that among the students I really wasn't very far behind. "Phew", what a relief. But there's much to do. Afterwards I had over an hour to spare before my bus would arrive to I settled into a little local bar for a coffee. Once in my place, a man in his sixties and the older barman started a little chat. When I had to leave they promised that next time I returned they'd check through my homework and help me along by speaking French to me. I've taken quite a fancy to these spontaneous little chats and am considering coming back every week for my coffee and extra lesson.