But I like to think I'm decent at Spanish, enough to get by, but that pretty much sums up the diversity of my linguistic skill.
So when my family stopped in Paris during the final leg of our trip, I was absolutely mesmerized by the City of Lights. It's breathtaking. But there was one flaw to my love affair with this cultural haven.
French.
I speak NO French. Not even a decent, hello, how are you, good, pardon me, thanks, etc. Nada. This bothered me a lot, because I was dying to chat with Parisians about something--anything. I'm proud to say, though, that by the end of the trip my proficiency was as follows:
I unfortunately attempted, on a stroke of extreme overconfidence, to order a cup of coffee one lovely morning at a cafe. The waiter gave me an empty stare, and I hastily switched to English, my face pink with embarrassment. After he left, my younger brother leaned over and whispered, "Hey, Sarah, please don't try that again." Words to live by, haha. Well, people in England speak English, so for now we're good.
Cheerio.
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