Don't be so sure. I bet they'd LOVE you! Jerry Lewis, adored in France as "le roi de la comédie" (the king of comedy) used to have them practically convulsed with laughter, rolling in the aisles, as he stood on stage and pretended his cigarette lighter wouldn't light.
In some play or other (modern), a comedy, a female character, very distressed over (if I recall) her love life confesses, "I may [have to] begin eating chocolate in secret," and that got a roar of laughter because (according to Mireille Guiliano, author of "French Women Don't Get Fat) for the French the idea of eating in secret is the height of absurdity, something inconceivable in France. Here in America we're perfectly capable not only of understanding but of being in perfect sympathy with the speaker who's going to "eat chocolate in secret," also implying, "...to excess."
I didn't say it would have been taken as serious, i.e., somber, art, only that it would be a box office smash. I imagine that to the French, it would be a lighthearted slice-of-life little film. The art critics might not look for meaning, they might just appreciate the hilarity --- as they see it. At the same time, NOBODY keeps clothes with two holes in the seat of the pants and ragged edges on the pant bottoms (is this the pair you chopped the broken, ragged hems off of, btw?) as the French do things, so they'd be sure this was...for comedic effect.)
It's why I selected France as a place where this would be a box office smash, which isn't to say it wouldn't be a huge success in Spain or Italy.
So you and I are on the same page, let me say I can't figure out how French women garden if they don't have "gardening clothes" they don't mind getting grubby and perhaps remaining grubby despite being laundered and scrubbed and whatever'd to remove grass stains and soil stains, or mended where a honkin' big rose thorn has produced a three-cornered rent. My gardening, and yours, too, is so much more "hands on" than drifting serenely along turf pathways or beautiful lawns and now and then pausing to cut a rose or a peony stem or six or twelve for the hallway table vase, and placing it into not a hod, but one of those sweet and romantic shallow baskets with its sisters.
no subject
Don't be so sure.
I bet they'd LOVE you!
Jerry Lewis, adored in France as "le roi de la comédie" (the king of comedy) used to have them practically convulsed with laughter, rolling in the aisles, as he stood on stage and pretended his cigarette lighter wouldn't light.
In some play or other (modern), a comedy, a female character, very distressed over (if I recall) her love life confesses, "I may [have to] begin eating chocolate in secret," and that got a roar of laughter because (according to Mireille Guiliano, author of "French Women Don't Get Fat) for the French the idea of eating in secret is the height of absurdity, something inconceivable in France. Here in America we're perfectly capable not only of understanding but of being in perfect sympathy with the speaker who's going to "eat chocolate in secret," also implying, "...to excess."
I didn't say it would have been taken as serious, i.e., somber, art, only that it would be a box office smash. I imagine that to the French, it would be a lighthearted slice-of-life little film. The art critics might not look for meaning, they might just appreciate the hilarity --- as they see it. At the same time, NOBODY keeps clothes with two holes in the seat of the pants and ragged edges on the pant bottoms (is this the pair you chopped the broken, ragged hems off of, btw?) as the French do things, so they'd be sure this was...for comedic effect.)
It's why I selected France as a place where this would be a box office smash, which isn't to say it wouldn't be a huge success in Spain or Italy.
So you and I are on the same page, let me say I can't figure out how French women garden if they don't have "gardening clothes" they don't mind getting grubby and perhaps remaining grubby despite being laundered and scrubbed and whatever'd to remove grass stains and soil stains, or mended where a honkin' big rose thorn has produced a three-cornered rent.
My gardening, and yours, too, is so much more "hands on" than drifting serenely along turf pathways or beautiful lawns and now and then pausing to cut a rose or a peony stem or six or twelve for the hallway table vase, and placing it into not a hod, but one of those sweet and romantic shallow baskets with its sisters.