Classes, Cats and Kiwis

HOW COOL IS THIS GUYS: classes open to the public, free of charge, in Paris! The one I'm linking to is the one I'm going to try to go to. Unfortunately, I have a stupid stupid stupid doctor's appointment at the time of the first class tomorrow. But I may not have to go to the appointment. Will find out! In any case I think I can drop in after that day anyway. Hopefully it's not too hard to follow, or a teeny tiny class where everyone snaps their heads around to glare French daggers at me when they realize I'm an interloper.

I love having a cat around more than you know. More than you know. And some of you know how much I love cats. (It's kind of alarming.)

It's official, the school district has told me I am not allowed to get a second job — the classic "ce n'est pas possible" — and, surtout, ne prenez pas un autre poste. Basically: don't even think about it. ...well. I'm thinking about it, and I'm thinking about it good. Babysitting is the world's favorite under-the-table go-to, and I'm absolutely thinking about it. Unfortunately, I can only do nights and weekends. But French parents must go out during the week, right?

More French names for animals: Kiki, Titi, or, hilariously, to the fluffy black (female) cat named Tommy: ma grosse, which I like to translate as "fatty."

French people, I've noticed, seem keen on peeling foods that the Americans I know usually love eating with the skin on — apples, potatoes, cheese with a crust... Also, I realized with shame that in the past year I have had my first shrimp-peeling and kiwi-peeling experiences. Do you peel a kiwi? Or is a more fitting term to hack in futility at the sides of that consumer-unfriendly fruit until you've lost most of it in the fight? Better to cut it in half and eat it with a spoon.