Au marché, au marché?

Things I have done in the past 3 days when people speak to me en français-

• Stare blankly at them
• Cry
• Stammer out a “non français”
• Manage a “désolé, je ne parle pas français, désole.”
• Smile and nod like an idiot and just walk away.

Things I have not done-

• Be cool.

So far though, people have been pretty chill with the fact that I do not parle français. I asked a mom at the parc how to say swings (la balançoire), we went to the farmers market today and asked the vendors all the words for the fruits and veggies that we didn’t already know. (Brocoli is nearly the same, huzzah!)
Having the kids with me helps, I think. They are an excellent shield and buffer and conversation piece. Also, I can just speak to them in English and people can deduce that I’m not a total moron, just an Anglophone.

So no, we didn’t manage to make it to the regular grocery store today. I may love city life, mais I am out of practice driving in it. I am accustomed to the freeee huge open parking lots and that is not to be found here in our temporary neighborhood of St. Roch. I mean, I love it, it’s fabulous, and I think we will just walk over to the grocery store in a little bit here, but yeah. I maaay have missed the turn for the parking lot and then driven around the area for like 45 minutes trying to figure out how to either park and/or get back to our parking space around the corner from the apartment. I finally gave up and said lets just take in our stuff from the marché and try again later.

And so we shall.