There’s a lot I could write about right now, but I think I’m getting sick, which I didn’t think was possible in France, because the fact that I’m in France, living here, speaking the weird semi-French I can get by on, isn’t real, and only real people get sick. But now that I’ve given you the worst run-on sentence in the history of the world, let me tell you about a one-minute interaction that happened today.
A little boy (who I’m not even sure I teach, but whatever) ran up to me and showed me his missing tooth. I was excited that I realized I could understand what he was saying (kids usually mumble or whisper or put their hand over their mouth or cry so it’s impossible to know what’s going on sometimes, which is why I sometimes just smile and nod while they ask me if they can go to the bathroom again and again) — and I was even more excited to talk about a part of French culture which I think is awesome. Instead of getting a visit from a tooth fairy, them tiny ones with gaps in their smiles are visited by la petite souris, or a little mouse.
So when I asked the little boy about this rumored little mouse who buys teeth off sleeping children (which conjures up both adorable and unsanitary images in my mind) he was able to confirm it with a report that yes, indeed, he got some candy (I was so tempted to write sweeties — that Scottish Jill, influencing me all weekend long!) and a bit of money. First petit souris “sighting?” Check.