Sunday, in the Park

Today, I walked to Bellevue from my mom's for the summer concert series. The band was very folky and from West Chester. They played "It Ain't Me" by Bob Dylan, which is maybe my third favorite song of his. I sang along. In between singing and scoping out two hotties (one with an Obama shirt, another with a Mt. Pleasant Band shirt), I would find this little girl staring at me and we giggled at each other. Eventually, her and her sister worked up the courage to ask me what my name was. I told them, and returned the question. I wasn't sure what they said, but I knew they were speaking French. We spent the next few minutes sitting, giggling, and me answering questions as they ran to their mom for "transduction." The older girl was 8, the younger 6. We played tag, and the only French I learned this whole time was how to call a time out. An older gentleman wanted to give the littlest girl a flower, and I told him they spoke French. He began asking a few questions in French, and they energetically responded. The younger girl had a leg brace and lift, because her right leg was shorter than the left. It was an amazing evening. I gave them my address, and they returned the favor. I'm going to ask Wasiq to help me compose a letter. They gave me pretty much the sweetest ego boost ever, because they took pictures of me for their vacation, and the American friend their parents were visiting told me that they were saying "tres belle," and that those sort of things shouldn't get lost in translation.
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