Ten minutes into my last french lesson chez moi I noticed the dog turd in the corner of the room.
I was mortified. It’s very hard to concentrate on conjugating verbs when you are feverishly trying to work out how to best deal with such an embarrassing situation. Should I casually go and get some toilet papier, and clean it up in front of my teacher, as if it was no big deal? Ignore it, hoping she wouldn’t notice and just clean it up after she’d gone? Create a diversion: “Fire!” “Earthquake!” “Oh I’ve got crushing central chest pain, I think I’m dying!”
It’s a bit of a shame, really, because we were discussing a fascinating recent documentary about French women in World War Two. In the end, I went with plan B – she never noticed the excrement in question or my distracted demeanor, and all’s well that ends well.
What lessons can I take from this episode? One: No matter where or when in history you’re talking about, it sucks to be a woman; and Two: Do a quick check of any room you’re in before admitting visitors.
