Franse kapper

I finally broke down and let somebody whittle on my troubled head. I decided to go to someone close to home - his shop is next door to our new house.

As always, right off the bat, I ask "Do you speak English?". He says "Yes, I speak English (?)".

That was not entirely true. He UNDERSTOOD English, but I'm not sure what he was speaking. His French accent was so thick I just smiled whenever he said whatever he was saying.

Sometimes when I walk the dog, nice people stop and prattle on to the dog and/or me and all the time I'm smiling and hoping their voice doesn't go up at the end of the sentence implying a question I can't possibly answer. This is kinda how I did with the kapper.

Thankfully it was over quickly and I could leave the painful French accent behind. He was conveniently located next door and there's hardly a resemblance to any chewing left on my not-so-troubled-head (for which I am grateful), but I think me and Frere Jacques may have to say au revoir.