Get “Bready” for a true story because it’ll make you hard-pressed that the husband is actually a native Frenchman!
Anyway, Thursday evening I had an appointment with my eye doctor. The time has come for me to acquire stronger lenses because my job as an Administrative Assistant has me sitting in front of a computer all day. Add to that, my aging eyes—or rather eye since I only have vision on one, is becoming sight blurry.
My eye doctor’s place! I swear I love going here! He and his wife remind me of my daughter Oona and her future husband Sam! They’re so cute!
Now mind you, it was a must that the dear Bonaparte accompany me because the doctor would be dilating my eyes and the husband would be footing the remainder of the cost that medical insurance would not—and we all know how the expense of frames and lenses escalates from year to year.
And let me say, although I am a serious hypochondriac who only expects the worst news, who envisions every serious condition affecting me at all times, and who is deathly afraid of doctors, the eye doctor happens to be my guilty health pleasure. Even as a child, I looked forward to having my crossed-eyes checked (weird kids grow up to be even weirder adults—I’m validation).
Just in case I become famous and I’m interviewed on TV–this is the first question I will be asked. And my answer will be a cute little laugh, a toss of the fake hair, a kick of the fake-tanned legs and an astounding “YES!!!!!” “And I think I’m coming down with something right now!”
The end result of the eye exam is that even though I’m blind in one eye, naturally cross-eyed and need a stronger lens prescription—my eyes are very healthy.
I have an amblyopic eye, strabismus and need stronger lenses, but the insides of my eyes are incredibly healthy. My crossed-eyes are very happy with this news!
And for those with eyes like mine, a little Opto-humor! This cartoonist is an artist turned eye-doctor. If you have an Instagram account, you need to follow him because he’s so funny! @sightgagscartoons
New frames picked out (they are similar to what I’m wearing now but not the same), bells and whistles in the lenses—i.e. blue filter for computer usage, anti-glare for night driving, and we were good to go.
My new frames. Salvatore Ferragamo–and they are tortoise shell colored!
Our plan was to hit Wegman’s to do some grocery shopping for the upcoming storm that was expected for this weekend (BTW, It’s Sunday and was supposed to rain ALL DAY. At 4:20 PM the weather is bright and sunny and about 10 degrees and windy).
For Bonaparte the storm food supplies did not include milk, bread, and eggs. It was more akin to butter, tarragon, shallots and any other sauce makings I needed for the weekend.
I knew something was up when we passed by the Wegman’s Bakery.
All of a sudden Bonaparte was concerned about the over-abundance of baguettes at Wegmans–and he usually complains about how bad they are–OK????
At 7:50 in the evening, Bonaparte spotted a section full of baguettes. He went over and squeezed one of the loaves. It was warm. This drove my husband into a full-on frenzy.
Respect the baguette!!
Oh Merde! Wha eez zuh mattahr wiz zeez pipoule? Wha a wist of good bread! Do you rillee sink pipoule ahr going to buy fresh baguette at zis time of night? Cassee you go talk to zuh manager.
Sometimes my husband thinks he is back in France where zuh pipoule line up at the boulangerie and patisserie at approximately 5:30 pm to 6:00 PM and wait like Russians on the rationed bread line to purchase their evening baguettes. But he did have a point that baking all those loaves to set out at almost 8 in the evening was a waste of good bread.
There’s nobody here now, but at 5:30 in the evening you need to see the line for the dinner baguettes. I’ve waited on many a line here and in the morning–Bonaparte runs here for his croissants!
However, no way was I going to speak to the manager.
Bonaparte have a sort of bad cop/good cop going on. Even though he’s really the bad cop with his complaining, I’m the one who has to do the actual complaining to managers because nobody can understand his heavy accent—especially when he’s upset!
Unfortunately, I have to be the bad cop–or mauvais cop!
Hence the reason why I bake bread at home!
Trust me–I’m blessed because Bonaparte happens to love the bread I make. Give us this day his daily bread!
Groceries in tow, the Frenchman had an idea—or rather a scheme. He stated that it was very late—too late, in fact for me to cook dinner, and he suggested we drive to McDonalds.
Allow me to explain something.
I hate McDonalds. With one exception–the McDonalds McCafe on the way to St. Tropez. The coffee is freshly brewed and the pastry selection is astounding! The In general, I don’t like fast food at all—the one exception being my beloved guilty pleasure of Taco Bell!
Just a sampling of the McCafe in France. It’s pretty darn amazing and the coffee is stupendous!
But with this low-to-no carb thing I’m doing, I told Bonaparte that I would just have my cauliflower hummus and raw vegetables when we got home.
We drove to McDo (inside tip—that’s the French slang for McDonalds *wink*) he ordered his Big Mac, large fries and Diet Coke and we went on our merry way home. Upon arriving home, I took my wig off, ran upstairs set the oven to 250 in order for him to reheat the fries and burger and we both got changed.
Can you believe my Frenchman ordered THIS? And he loves it! I wonder if he really is French at times!
And then it happened. The second he opened the warm and toasty box that contained the treasure trove of two burgers slathered with cheese, pickles and special sauce—not to mention the unflavored hothouse cardboard tomato, slivered lettuce and onions.
His eyes popped open—like a cartoon where the eyes pop out of the head then back into the sockets.
Holy Homer Simpson! Bonaparte’s eyes popped outta his head too!
He started cursing in French and trust me he said far worse than “merde”!
He turned to me with a stern “Look a’ ziz!!!!!!”
I didn’t notice anyzing—anything. And when I stated so he went into a tail spin!
“ZUH BUN!!!!” “DO YOU SEE ZUH BUN!!!?????” “EEZ NIT ZUH SEM!!!!!!” “EEZ ZUH WRON’ BUN!!” “Z’HAIR EEZ NO SES-I-MEEEEE SIDS!!!!!!!!” (More French cursing)
My simple and pragmatic response was “Well, they probably ran out of the Big Mac buns so they replaced them with regular buns.”
His next response was to ask me to take a photo of the burger. Which I complied.
This is the “Bad” Big Mac! Plain bun and all–and half eaten!
Regardless of the bun, he still ate every last morsel of the burger with the bad bun!
Fast forward to Friday, the day after the McDonalds episode.
When we awoke, my husband turned to me to ask me if I still had the “resit” from the McDonalds meal. Now, normally I throw resits—or rather receipts, away, but since he gave me quite a chunk of change from the bill he paid with for his meal, I stuffed both change and receipt into my wallet.
Apparently, he was awake pondering his next move because he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.
The infamous “Resit”!
I gave him the receipt and knew exactly why he wanted it.
He was going to get a refund for the Big Mac that was now making its way through his intestines. I don’t think he was waiting for the meal to make a reappearance.
And approximately four hours after I left the house, and was ensconced within the confines of my work cubicle, I received an email from him. It simply read:
I got a refund.
One can only imagine what went on in that McDonalds when he arrived with the receipt. He explained in his broken English and heavy French accent that his Big Mac had the wrong bun.
No..nobody understands you…and that’s why you had no issue obtaining a refund!!
The woman at the counter stated that it was too early in the morning to get another Big Mac and so, she just gave him the four dollars that he spent on his entire meal.
There are no words. However, this episode has now proven to me that the French have a very serious thing about bread. Even if it is a bun on a disgusting fast-food burger.
You do not mess with a Frenchman and his bread—or any product made of flour and yeast—or any product laden with carbs.
Yeah…you kinda don’t mess with a Frenchman and his love of the loaf–even if it’s a fast food bun!
Yesterday, I baked a loaf of bread for him. And he ate the entire thing!
Yes! Here’s the loaf I made for the husband yesterday–and my wig and wig cap are right next to it because I had to take my fake hair off or it would have melted from the oven’s heat!
And there you have it! Welcome to my life!