the french...

The French. I’m not sure how else they can be described. Each one you meet is so different from the next, but at the same time they are all so alike. There are the rude ones that cut in line at the store… eh hem Madame…and the rude waiters who don’t care much for American patrons even if they can speak French. The one’s who speak a mile a minute about all of their dog’s ailments when all you can do is nod and pretend to understand. The one’s who lecture you about how the only way to learn their language is to be in their country hearing it but give the lecture in English. The one’s who want to practice their English on you even though you know more French then they do English. The one’s who draw pictures of themselves on your bill after being the most polite waiter we’ve meet so far. The one’s who scowl as they walk down the street but can’t help but smile when they run into a friend. The one’s who smoke so many cigarettes you think they run on tobacco instead of food. The one’s who let there dogs run loose in the streets and their children too. The one’s who love to say “what’s up” when they realize we’re American. The one’s who are supposed to be helping us learn our French but only talk to us in English. The one’s who charge 3,5€ for only 22 cl of Pepsi. The one’s who pretend to be a living statue of Michael Jackson. The young one’s who march in a big protest parade downtown about some local politician. There are all sorts of people, but only one breed: French.