This reminds me: years ago, I was at my girlfriend's parents' home, enjoying a meal of wine and cognac and other hydrating libations. It was one of the first times I'd ever met my girlfriend's parents. They were prominent French judges. I wanted to make a good impression. After my girlfriend and I had crept upstairs into bed, careful not to wake the parents in the bedroom next door, I found myself walking up to a stone French cottage. A quaint elderly woman opened the door and asked me to please enter. I promptly went to the small cupboard with the toilet, and for some reason I sat down, and began urinating on my inner thigh.
I woke up in a puddle of piss. My girlfriend began laughing. The next morning I walked downstairs with soiled sheets in hand. "Je suis desolé, monsieur .. I've pissed the bed," I cowered. He began laughing, too. "Pissing the bed? That's nothing. I pissed myself last week."
Masterfully crafted little tale, made me laugh. I suppose I'm on the better side of this story too. Even after a few hard hours in the French tax offices last week, I can at the very least say I have not wet the bed of my European experience.
This reminds me: years ago, I was at my girlfriend's parents' home, enjoying a meal of wine and cognac and other hydrating libations. It was one of the first times I'd ever met my girlfriend's parents. They were prominent French judges. I wanted to make a good impression. After my girlfriend and I had crept upstairs into bed, careful not to wake the parents in the bedroom next door, I found myself walking up to a stone French cottage. A quaint elderly woman opened the door and asked me to please enter. I promptly went to the small cupboard with the toilet, and for some reason I sat down, and began urinating on my inner thigh.
I woke up in a puddle of piss. My girlfriend began laughing. The next morning I walked downstairs with soiled sheets in hand. "Je suis desolé, monsieur .. I've pissed the bed," I cowered. He began laughing, too. "Pissing the bed? That's nothing. I pissed myself last week."
I like the comment a fan who told the film director Preston Sturges "I laughed so much at your new movie that I pissed in my girlfriend's hand."
Masterfully crafted little tale, made me laugh. I suppose I'm on the better side of this story too. Even after a few hard hours in the French tax offices last week, I can at the very least say I have not wet the bed of my European experience.
Thanks, Augusta. The French tax system would exhaust anyone. Where is H.R. Block when you need them?