FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

I woke up this morning thinking, "I could really use a clog to illustrate today's post." Later, Jackie and I were at the mall when we stumbled into a second-hand shop...and found this sabot. Now that’s serendipitous! 

TODAY'S WORD: LE SABOT

    : clog

Did you know the word sabotage comes from sabot? The term sabotage is believed to have originated during the Industrial Revolution in France. Workers, particularly in the textile industry, would throw their wooden clogs (called sabots) into machinery to disrupt production as a form of protest. The act symbolized their resistance against poor working conditions, low wages, and the exploitation of labor. Today, learn a funny expression related to sabot…

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Some of the most colorful French phrases I’ve learned come from my time as a budding writer in the medieval village of Les Arcs-sur-Argens. While Fanny, up the road at the Swedish vineyard in Draguignan, was natural, wholesome, and funny, my neighbor (who we’ll call Marie) was quite the opposite—severe and calculating. Yet, in the short time we knew each other, she revealed a vulnerable side that I remember just as much as her sharp edges. It was from Marie, with her wit and dry humor, that I picked up one of the most unforgettable local expressions (hint: it has to do with boots and walking).

Marie was the one who played a practical joke on me after my husband invited her and her husband to dinner. It was she who placed the whoopie cushion on my seat so that, when I returned from the kitchen, I sat down in the most inelegant way—PFFFFFT!—to the hysterics of my guests.

My petite prankster later explained that she found me a little stuffy and thought the joke might loosen me up. Marie’s evaluation came as a jolt, and to this day, I overcompensate in social interactions to be sure I’m not as reserved (unapproachable? stuck-up?) as I seem.

It may be that Marie, like many of us, mistakes shyness for snobbery. It’s something I try to remember when feeling too intimidated to causer with certain others at a party—chances are, the ones that are aloof are slightly introverted.

Perhaps I was being judgmental, too, assuming Marie was more confident than she actually was. I remember waving coucou as she drove past my house the next week in her shiny sports car. Her short hair slicked back, she wore dark red rouge à lèvres. A trendy blouse completed the look. When she rolled down her window, a strong whiff of Poison (her signature perfume?) strangled the following words right out of me:

“You look pretty!” I said, to which she replied, “Why? Did I look ugly yesterday?”

Marie stared at me until I registered my gaffe. However embarrassed, I now knew how not to pay a compliment to a French woman.

Marie could be intimidating but, with time, I learned she was only insecure (I didn’t know it then, but her life was on the verge of falling apart, starting with divorce). She once told me the story of her kitchen renovation, which she was in charge of while her husband, a public figure, was away. She needed to get several devis before selecting the right prestataire. Marie suspected she would be overcharged by the contractor:

“Ils me voient venir avec mes gros sabots,” she said, her tone both matter-of-fact and self-deprecating. “They see me coming with my big clogs.” The moment she said it my mind conjured up the image of  someone showing up, clunk, clunk, clunk, with all their weaknesses exposed. She knew her well-dressed appearance and delicate stature made her a target—someone who, in the eyes of opportunistic workers, could be plumée (or plucked of all their feathers/money).

Finally, I could relate to Marie! As a woman with a strong American accent in a foreign country, I sometimes feel the same way—obvious, exposed (especially when alone). It’s not about being a victim; it’s about trying to fend off the wolves who see us coming from a mile away, in our big clunky boots, as we venture to ask, “How much to fix my car?” or “What’s the cost to trim these hedges?”

Worse than clogs, I was wearing an accidental combo (flip-flops and socks) while negotiating with a couple of out-of-town hedge trimmers passing through our neighborhood last week. When they rang unexpectedly, there wasn’t enough time to put my boots on before hurrying to open the gate. Before I knew it, I’d had my hedges trimmed and my highly flammable (empty, but full of dry pine needles) chicken coop cleared out—along, you might say, with my porte-monnaie. While I did negotiate 50 euros off the top, I won’t tell you how much it cost to give our leafy walls a much-needed trim before the police came knocking on our door, threatening une contravention (as they do, every couple of years! Around here you can’t have your hedges hogging the municipal trottoir).

Whether being shortchanged at the baker’s or overcharged by the hedge trimmers, I’ve got to be vigilant when doing business—or be taken for a ride (se faire rouler). And this takes more than intelligence, confidence, or dark red lipstick. It takes practice. There will surely be more opportunities to negotiate before my husband, Chief Negotiator, returns in eight weeks. How about next time I invite the prestataires in for tea and a wee prank? PFFFFT! A good ol’ coussin péteur ought to level the playing field. Merci, Marie!

Better yet, forget the clogs and the victim mentality and remember Nancy Sinatra’s famous example: These boots are made for walking! All that’s needed now is to stand tall in my flip-flops and socks and let the potential schemers know, “One false step, and I’m gonna walk all over you!”

🎶   🎶   🎶   🎶   🎶   🎶

Post note: I realized, after writing this story, that I had a slight trou de mémoire, or memory lapse. Turns out it wasn’t a whoopie cushion but another classic gag that Marie played on me all those years ago. Google “French word a day fake crotte” and read all about it :-)

Because an underlying theme in today's story is strength: here is my Mom, who lived near us in Les Arcs-sur-Argens, in 2003. She had an apartment on Rue de la Paix (Peace Street). Interestingly, Max, (around 9 years old in this photo) grew up and lived on Rue de la Paix in another town (here in La Ciotat).

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FRENCH VOCABULARY 

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French terms below

se faire rouler = to be taken for a ride

 causer = chat

coucou = hi there!

le rouge à lèvres = lipstick

la gaffe = blunder

le devis = bid

le prestataire = contractor 

Ils me voient venir = they see me coming

les gros sabots = big clogs (expression for being obvious)

le porte-monnaie = wallet

la contravention = fine

le trottoir = sidewalk

le coussin pèteur = whoopie cushion

Merci, Marie! = thanks, Marie

le trou de mémoire = memory lapse

la crotte de chien = dog doo

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Jackie and Ricci at a delicious little café in La Ciotat. For more pictures, I invite you to follow us here on Instagram

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to these longtime supporters of my journal, for your donations last week 💗

Douglas 
Maureen
Charles and Martha
Natalia, Rod, Elley & Ari 

Jean-Marc is in love with South America! He will begin his work at two Argentinian vineyards soon, just as soon as he finishes his 3-week bike (and rowing…) adventure in Chile. Wish him bonne chance!