Je m'appelle Minge. J'ai 33 ans. J'ai les yeux brun, les cheveaux brun. J'habite a Edinburgh en Ecosse.Une verre de limonade, s'il vous plaît.
Merde.
Bon après-midi. Est-ce qu'il y a un homme près d'ici?
Shit, see what happens when you don't use a language for almost twenty years? You end up reciting stuff from your first ever French lesson.
And I expect the spelling is totally fucked.
Oops, I just swore. I'm such a rebel.
To cut to the chase. I am not Spock. I am Minge. I am not Roy. I am not Roysie. I am not Bender. I am not Royston. I am not Taps. I am Minge.
However, I don't want to be Minge.
I want to be something else.
I'd like to be a chrysalis, but I'm not even that. I don't know if I even feel like a caterpillar. I think I'm still an egg. But a thirty three year old egg.
Shit.
Time's marching on. It looks like it's not only Phyllis who's having a mid-life crisis.
When do I get to be a butterfly?
3 comments:
Not bad for someone who's out of practice.
We're always in the middle of reinventing ourselves, you know. There isn't anything wrong with acknowledging that.
It's only a crisis if you let it slow you down.
Who do you want to be? Now change one thing. Then wait a little bit and change another.
This public service announcement has been brought to you by your friendly, neighborhood American French teacher.
*mwah*
*mwah*
I've slowed down to such an extent, that I've stopped!
Change, my dear.
I love to leave something behind!
;)
I bet you can't wait for it to start!
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