Great Expectations

I liked Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. But I never thought that I would ever go knocking on its door.

My foray in France was both exciting and disappointing. Alone in a foreign place equipped only with a French-English dictionary, I found it was easier to pretend I understood less than I actually did. It's sad to think of it like that. I boarded the plane with a completely different idea of France than what I came home with. The moment I stepped of the plane, les palmiers were everywhere. I thought I had landed in California.

As soon as I stepped through the door the host family was gracious. "Pour boire? du lait? du cafe?" This would be easy, I thought, I don't have to worry about going hungry. I was willing to eat frog's legs every night. The house was remarkably smaller than what I was used to. I shared a room with Laura, my correspondent. Although part of the exchange guaranteed me my own bed, I knew that this was France and that they were being friendly. I was grateful.

That was the first day. On the second day I learned that the French hate bare feet in the house. Laura's mother demanded that I wear les pontoufles-- house slippers. However, they were less slippers and more like clogs, making my treks up and down the stairs (about half the width of American stairs) dangerous. I would leave them up there just once, I thought, they won't notice I'm not wearing them. Of course, the first thing launched at me is, "Ou est les pantoufles??" That's okay. I could deal with their rules.

On the third day I met Laura's girlfriend. Now I think it's cool that she is open with herself, but the problem was that her mother thought she had a boyfriend 0.o The third day is when they began quizzing me on my ability to read minds. "Do you want an omelette sandwich or a nutella sandwich?" Me-- "Oh nutella please!" "You don't like my omelettes? Laura hates them. You don't like them?" Me-- "Uh, no, I mean, yes, I like your omelettes." "Okay then I will make you an omelette sandwich." That might sound small, but the entire day continued like that. Again, les pantoufles, then again with my backpack and my clothes, and whether or not I wanted to go swimming. The family was constantly asking me questions about my happiness but not listening to my answers. It may sound like small things, but this continued for a week straight, and I swear I didn't have ten minutes to myself to use the restroom.

On the fourth day Laura lost her purse. And her cellphone. Suddenly the small bickering, even the moderate shout/fights I had witnessed (over whether or not I wanted to eat jambon du pays or jambon blanc, whether or not I wanted to swim, or sit in the front seat) turned into full on war. Every problem in the household-- Laura's secrets, her relationship with her mother-- came out. Losing your purse, I suppose, means you will fail out of school and fail life. I was just standing there watching all of this build, and just when I make it upstairs away from the crying, I am called down again to eat dinner right in the middle of it.

When I was deciding to take French people kept telling me how beautiful the language was. I agreed, until I heard the angry, bitter French that was kicked around in this house. And while I was eating and they were shouting, I listened though pretending not to hear. Then suddenly a question was addressed to me, "Where did you last see Laura's bag?" I wasn't going to play that game, this wasn't my fault. I said nothing. "You don't understand anything do you?!?!" That was the last time I wanted to talk to my family. The rest of the week was spoiled. I wouldn't learn anymore grammar or ask anymore questions. As far as I was concerned, the trip was over. It was time to get to Paris.

And so on the sad day that the Americans had to part with their French families, I said goodbye and that was it. I left as Nick and Honey left after the war. The family had no idea why I had suddenly turned silent in the middle of the week, and they had come to no conclusion in their fighting. I was glad to be rid of the absurdist drama.