Trip Start Jul 19, 2009
Trip End Oct 25, 2010

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Flag of France  ,
Wednesday, May 7, 2008

The Intermarché, a supermarket in Hautefort - a lovely village just 5 minutes away from our hamlet - is one of my most frequented places. By now, most of the staff recognize me and grant me a bonne journee, except for the butcher.
Now he really looks the part, a big lump of a man, square head, black eyes, mustache and neatly parted hair. He stands back in his white apron, arms folded over his chest eying me critically, already unwilling to understand any of my attempts at French. His cheeks are big red blotches, I never know if he is angry or shy.
But today his attitude seems to have changed completely. He's actually keen to help me, rushing me around the shop, when I can't find what I need at his counter, going to the back, in and out of the huge fridge. I'm so pleased he seems to have finally accepted me as a semi-local, though he won't quite meet my eyes, keeping them slightly lowered, fixed on an undefined spot under my face. We don't find what I want but I thank him profusely, and walk away feeling ridiculously triumphant over this small conquest.
A slim, well-dressed middle aged lady is about to pass me, then stops and nods disapprovingly in the direction of my chest, with a sharp:' Madam, s'il vous plait!'
I look down to see all the buttons of my second hand t-shirt have come undone, I'm in my - skimpy - bra! No wonder the butcher perked up no end, no wonder the previous owner got rid of the t-shirt.
I'm dreading going for meat tomorrow and am now contemplating becoming a vegetarian. Help!
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katherine-anne on

Re: What the butcher saw...
what do you mean 'small'?
honestly Alan, check 'interesting bits' and stop moaning :)

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