The only thing worse than a grey, rainy day in Paris is a dull, wet day with the miserable, rude French people. Yes, what has now become an art form in the city, I have been informed that even the French are tired of the rude ways that rule this city.
In fact the French tourism chief even made an apology this past summer for the rudeness of zee French. In order to battle what is now considered the number one stressful part of a day for the French people, even more than an ailing economy, and austerity programs, the transportation system ran an aggressive campaign demonstrating how ‘Not to be rude’ in such times.
The solution to all this rudeness and Stress came to me in the most unexpected of ways.
Her name is Mademoiselle Tika.
A friend gifted my daughter with the birthday present of her dreams: a little border collie. This dog has been sent from the heavens above to prolong my children’s childhood but also for me to secretly permeate the jaded hearts who cross our path.
What I didn’t’ know at the time of receiving the pooch was that while the French might know a few things about rude, foxy Mademoiselle Tika knows a thing or two about cute. I am not talking about the cuteness of babies and such, No, the French don’t go for that …because they like their children to be civil. But when it comes to pooches, Mademoiselle Tika and fellow pooches near and afar are expected and licensed to be cute. Of course, this is not actually written in her Doggy Passport (yes a pooch with her own passport!) Might I add, that I didn’t have a passport until I was 19.
My little sojourns to the organic store, where I was just another customer buying eggs and milk have been replaced with all kinds of pertinent questions and suggestions about zee pooch. One woman who works the cash register said I should give her only ‘organic’ treats for better digestion; meanwhile another gave me some free homeopathic support to increase help little Tika’s immune system. Once a couple of weeks back, a police officer was going to ticket me for waiting in my car outside a store for a friend, that is until Mademoiselle Tika stuck her little head from the passenger window and licked the officers face. Well, shall I say, I was speechless waiting for the worse. The officer leaned in, as if placed under a ‘cute’ trance, Mademoiselle Tika busy wagging her tail, and began to tell me about a pooch he had once when he was a young boy. I have met neighbors that I never knew, been told confessions I could never repeat. ‘Where is your little dog from?’ ‘How old is your little pooch, madame?’ ‘Will that be a table for two?’
Yes. Now I am armed like never before to conquer this country under stress. Casting one cute trance at a time, I am sure Mademeoiselle Tika will conquer the French nation by the end of the year.