France-tastic

After over five months here, I feel that my french has definitely improved. I can get by in most situations without thinking too much about it, and have even recently promoted myself to answering ringing phones in the office status, to the point of asking people if they would like to leave a message. Although there are still plenty of things I can't say, and it is frustrating beyond belief to be tripped up when a seemingly simple idea (mixing negative conditional pluperfect is simple enough in english!) gets horribly mutilated and eyebrows crinkle at me, I can hold a conversation without too much difficulty, and frequently use nothing but french for whole evenings or lunchtimes without having to resort to wallflower status. I can manage cheese shops, florists, shoe shops, secretaries, even doctors.

But yesterday I underwent the most important examination of french I have taken since the HSC...

...A haircut!

After sneakily heading northernwards to swedish-speaking lands last time my hair got long and straggly and split-endsy, this time there was no relief in sight, and I had to confront the coiffeur, no notes or crib sheets in hand, no friendly translator standing by, just me and a scissor brandishing stranger.

The talk about what I wanted went fairly painlessly I thought, until she geared up the shaver thingy and started hoeing into the back of my head. My failure was going to be clear to all the world! They used to pin scarlet A's on adulterers, I was about to have an F shaved into the back of my head! After shaving me completely bald in five seconds flat, she moved onto the sides, and finally I could see that she was using the shaver rather than scissors and was thank god cutting the hair quite a bit away from my actual scalp! No F! No baldness!

In the end, I left with quite a normal haircut, no bald patches, no purple streaks. I don't know if it was an A+ haircut, but I think my french has gone straight to the top of the class!