My friend, and co-owner of our little house in France, often talk about "my worst day in France". Maybe, because we have so many wonderful days, the bad ones really stand out as something special.
A large part of the problem, of course, lies with us. Not having even a tenuous grip on the language especially when we purchased the home. We each had two bedrooms to furnish and decorate. Including the beds. So our visit to the bed factory, where we were sure we were being overcharged for simple box springs by an owner who had never spoken to an American. Armed with our tiny French dictionaries we were totally at the mercy of Msr. Bedfactory. I must say, Sally persevered and we have two of the most expensive box springs in the world. I never was able to finish my order, and that was a good thing. A box spring for a double bed would never have fit up our stairs.
At another time, I was in a fancy grocery store in Paris with my friend Sandy. She asked, in what I thought was fine French, "Je voudrais une bon boutille du Burgoyne" Which is, " I would like a good bottle of Burgundy wine". I was on the next aisle listening when the clerk said, in perfect English, "I am sorry, I don't speak English".
It was about then that I decided French was never going to just "come", I would need help.
My two favorite Sally's