French Class Is Never What I Expect It To Be

I arrived at uni today all gung-ho (well, not enthused, but prepared) for a debate in French class. I hate debates. They combine two things I detest: public speaking and having opinions. And when they’re in French, it’s a major brain explosion waiting to happen. I was meant to be meeting a girl from class to work on our project, but she couldn’t show up, so I even had an extra hour in the library to find the right mind-set. Think “Eye Of The Tiger/Shot Through The Heart” “get psyched mix” mind-set.

Outside the room, the four or five of us that thought the debate was today were quickly shut down. It’s not until Wednesday.

So in class, we listened to old French songs. The singer on the video was quite clearly from the early 60s (I assumed), sporting a white suit jacket and some bell-bottom jeans for his TV performance. Très bien. At one point I looked up from my notes and this guy almost opposite me was singing word-for-word, looking everyone in the eye . I almost snort-laughed. I didn’t. But almost.

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