nothing brings me more joy than repeatedly doing a bit that my mother dislikes
i think i’m funny and that’s the main thing
(ID: both images are a text message conversation between OP and Mothership [their mom]
Mom: Text me to say you’re home safely OP: I’m home dangerously Mom: Stop it OP: I’m home lethally
OP: I’m home in an extremely lackadaisical and downright reckless fashion Mom: Text me that you are at home and not in a wheelie bin OP: My journey home is violating so many health and safety regulations I’ve killed three pedestrians Mom: You’re breaking my heart OP: I actually got murdered as soon as I left your field of vision Mom: So not funny OP: And then got up and was immediately murdered again by a different person Mom: On the tube now So unable to respond to your witticisms OP: Who knows how many times I’ll have been murdered by the time you get off the tube
The Least Intimidating bakery in the village has closed for good so now I’ve got to go to the Intimidating Bakery, it’s awful. If you don’t have a PhD in being French I don’t recommend going to that bakery, here’s the humiliating account of the 3 times I’ve visited it so far:
the first time I went in there I pointed at one of those extra-skinny baguettes and said “a flute, please” feeling pretty sure of myself, and the baker said “… that’s a ficelle” (you idiot) (was implied) “a flute is twice as large as a baguette.”
That’s insane, first of all, a flute is a skinny instrument. Call your fat baguette a bassoon, lady—I made some timid remark about how it would make more sense for a flute to be a skinny bread and the baker said, “In Paris it is. I thought you were from the South?”
oh, that hurt
I guess I’m from the part of the South that’s so close to Italy the bread’s waist size matters less than whether it’s got olives in it, but I left the bakery having an existential crisis over whether living in Paris had made me forget my roots
the Least Intimidating Bakery just had normal baguettes vs. seedy baguettes vs. horny baguettes (easy mode, some have seeds, some have horns), while the new bakery has breads that are only different on a molecular level—there’s a good old loaf and then another, identical loaf called a bastard? google told me a bastard is “halfway between a baguette and a bread” but denouncing them like “those are not regulation-sized bastards” would get me banned from the bakery for life
on my 2nd visit (while I stood in line discreetly googling baguette terminology) there was an English tourist who asked for a baguette while pointing at what was either a rustique or a sesame and I felt a bit worried for them, but the baker just clarified “this one?” to waive any responsibility if they found out later it wasn’t a classic baguette, then handed them the bread without educating them in a judgmental tone and I felt envious
I know it’s because she thinks the English are beyond saving but still it made me want to come back with a fake moustache and an English accent so I wouldn’t be expected to play bakery on expert mode just because I’m French. I asked for a pastry this time and the baker asked “no bread with that?” which felt cruel, like she wanted me to sprinkle myself with ashes and admit out loud that my level of bread proficiency isn’t as advanced as I once believed it was
The third time I went, I had lost all self-confidence and I hesitantly pointed at a bread and said “I’d like this, uh—what is it called?” and the baker looked at me in disbelief and said “That’s a baguette.”
God.
for the record, if that stupid bread had been flanked by a skinny bread (ficelle) and a fat one (flute) then yeah of course I would have known to call it a baguette, but in the absence of reference points I now felt lost and scared of being called a Parisian again
it’s hard to express the depth of my suffering so I’ll just let the facts speak for themselves: this morning a French person (me) stood in a French bakery in France surrounded by French people and pointed at a baguette and said “what is this called”
i was in the library and the lights went out and i whispered “dark academia” and only one person laughed but ive been having a bad enough week that it felt like a win so cheers
each one unique. some wild, some tame. when they open new tabs you have to pet them and say sshhh easy there. you have to feed them treats from your hand
You cannot say that a top grossing artist is “feral” or making you “feral.” You are listening to the Billboard Top 40. You are very domesticated.
Stupid ass take. The fame of the artist doesn’t define how it makes you feel. Do you not see me go hogwild eating potatoes, easily one of the top 5 most well known vegetables
