Yes, I know, it doesn't really work when you elongate the noun like that. Anyway.
Yesterday evening, I learned something rather interesting. James...light of my loins, master of my mammaries...knows FRENCH. And not just O level textbook French either. Fluent, could-talk-the-hind-legs-off-a-Parisian-donkey French.
During our rather hurried meal out last night (supposedly at Pilate's, natch), he started conversing with our waiter, who, as it turned out, came from the same French town James' school was partnered with back when he was a teenager. Then they raced off into some conversation about the local area, leaving me stranded in my own linguistic ignorance. See, I did study French at school, for 3 years, but the only sentence I can recall is:
"J'habite dans un appartement en bord de mer."
Translated : I live in an apartment by the sea. Great if you do, of course. Not so great if you're trying to interject into a fast-moving conversation on the French school system.
Despite my lack of understanding, however, I can conclude one thing. Foreign languages are HOT. Watching James spout all this vowel-stuffed nonsense, I couldn't help but get a little hot under the collar. Such intelligence. Such experience. He could have been reciting a brief history of early Roman irrigation systems. I still wanted to hump his leg like a randy Chihuahua.
On our way back to the car, I suggest that he perhaps might like to try a little 'Comment va ton père?' in the bedroom. He seemed reluctant. Perhaps worried that this new-found fascination might awaken some dormant yet terrifying sexual urges in me...
That sound like fun doesn't it? Well, if James fails me, I guess I could always spend an evening with an old Linguaphone tape and a bottle of wine. Who cares if the conversation is a little one-sided? I'm a sucker for a cunning linguist...