Do you remember that Australian TV programme? Have you ever/Ever felt like this/When Strange things are happening/Are you going round the twist...
Anyway I just thought of it because strange things are happening. The first Strange Thing happened yesterday at lunch time. I got into the house with the little boy and hung our coats up and there were two packets of disposable razors on the side. The little boy said in his weird little mix of English/French and five year old nonsense:
"Dey for you. You take you. Anglais they put them. We no. You put them for you."
I won't write down the whole conversation because it will probably drive you as crazy as me, but basically the little boy was saying the razors were for me because English girls use razors and he mimed shaving his face. Now I know I don't post pictures of my face here, and while it's true that I may have a slight whisper of Dark-Haired Female Syndrome, you are honestly not reading the ramblings of a Bearded Lady.
I laughed and told him that girls don't shave their faces and this is where it gets weird. He thought for a moment, then mimed shaving his legs and armpits and informed me that this is what I shaved. I was so stunned that I said "How do you know!?" and prayed that he wouldn't start mime-shaving his crotch area.
How the fuck does he know this? Is it because he has seen my hairless armpits and told his mum who wisely explained that English girls get rid of their hair 'under there'? The weird thing is, since coming to France, I have been rather lax in this department and many a day I have ventured out of the house sporting stubbly ankles or else I have given my friends a valid reason for questioning the wisdom of me wearing a sleeveless top.
The thing is, I've run out of razors and I really want to take them, but I can't start acting on the instructions a five year old boy. Even I can see that is irresponsible. Where the hell has he got his information from? I can only imagine he has overhead a conversation bewteen his parents, but then why would they be discussing my bodily hair? Anyway, today at lunch time the razor were still there. And the little boy insisted I take them again. I'm not going to take them unless the mum of the family tells me to, but I don't want to bring it up in case she thinks I am trying to steal razors off her. But then again... what if she thinks by not taking them I am politely declining them and gives them to someone else?
Yesterday was a very strange day. As well as the razor incident, when I picked up the eight year old girl from school she asked me to make 22 crêpes for the next day (today)- ten to take to school and twelve for us to eat for dinner. I agreed of course, having less common sense than a hair scrunchie, and found myself making an enormous amount of crêpé mixture. I assumed that it was for her English class or something, because apparently the French don't eat eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, or PANCAKE day as it is known in England.
I made three crêpes and then ran out of time, so I left the mixture out so the mum could finish them off. Obviously I expected her to make seven more, then save the mixture so I could make crêpes for dinner tonight. (They have truly brainwashed me- now I think crêpes are acceptable for dinner, instead of pudding.) But when I took the little boy home for lunch today, there was one rock hard crêpe in a pan and all the mixture had gone. There is no way I am not having pancakes on Pancake Day, but then again, do I really want the mum to think I have gone pancake mad, making about thirty crêpes in two days?
Pancakes and razors aside, something else strange happened yesterday. I went out for Kay's birthday (too many birthdays this month) and on our way to a bar, a man had a heart attack. One minute he was stood up, the next minute he fell sideways and was inconcious. Kay pulled the emergency stop thing but the metro didn't stop until it had reached the next station. Then all the doors were locked. What if we had pulled the emergency break because there was a fire? Anyway, everyone in the carriage just kind of stood around the man, staring at him and discussing whether he was diabetic or if he had a heart attack. Five minutes went by and a conductor came down the carriage asking what the problem was. He had a look at the man and then got on his radio. He chatted away (admittedly he did sound concerned but there was nothing urgent about the situation) for about five more minutes, then eventually they opened the metro doors and some people got off.
We didn't really know what to do so we left, but as we walked away we realised a very long time had gone by and there was still no medical assistance. I hope that man was ok.