Tuesday, July 25, 2006

ETTA, MEET PARANOIA. PARANOIA, ETTA.

This is trauma.

I'm an adult attending French class of my own accord and paying out of my own pocket - and yet, when the teacher asks to see me, I get a tight knot in my stomach. And it's not because he's kind of cute; it's because I think he might fail me or chastise me for not applying myself.

Just to get the facts straight: I have learned, in the last 10 years, to get to class on time and to have my homework done. I no longer pass notes in class, nor do I pay any heed to the faculty's dubious fashion sense. I know this is nothing to be proud of a hair's width from my thirtieth birthday, but I thought it pertinent to include my maturity progress report to prove just how illogical my paranoia is.

But alas! 15 horrible years of schooling have rendered me an emotional cripple. Even now, I'm convinced that my classmates don't like me. Never mind that their median age is 46 and that they have bigger fish to fry than the sweaty, terrified 30 year-old in the cowering in the corner.

Christ, etta. Get it together.

Anyway, the teacher called me aside after class to tell me that my oral expression has improved. He said he had noticed that I speak better when I don't make eye contact with anyone (because I'm dark/weird/anti-social/the anti-christ, obviously). And therefore, his bonne idee was that I bring LES LUNETTES to class next week.

Like they don't all think I'm weird enough already. I have to wear shades in class now?

2 Comments:

Blogger Yu-Ching said...

ganbare Etchan!

5:35 PM  
Blogger la mannanista said...

lol! i'm sure your french will be fabulous by the time you arrive in paris not so long from now. and if you have to wear shades to buy your morning baguette, so be it. let that glamour ooze.

3:22 AM  

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