Me, the French Fireman, and the disappointment

I had a lovely holiday en famille in France a year ago. For three weeks we stayed in a French town called Bayeux in Normandy and tortured the children with history lessons of the D-Day landings and visits to lots of mediaeval churches, and no Internet or McDonald's.

We stayed in a lovely apartment in a converted 17th century hotel in the middle of town. Close to the boulangerie selling the world's BEST croissant and brioche.






One night there was a knock on the door. Which was unexpected seeing as we didn't know anyone in Bayeux who might want to call in.

I opened the door and there stood a Very Handsome Frenchman. As if there is any other sort. He was Very Tall and Very Handsome. And in a uniform. I'm sure some of my reproductive organs did some sort of happy dance. He explained, in French, that he was one of the local Pompiers (fireman) and he was selling calendars. Fortunately I speak in petit peu of French and understood what he was telling me. How much? I asked. A donation, he replied.

I went and got my wallet all flustered at the prospect of a calendar full of half naked French fireman. And handed over 10 euros.

He handed me the calendar, said 'merci' and off he went, out of my life.

I sat down to inspect my 10 euro calendar. It was full of pictures of French firemen actually fighting fires. Not shirtless and oiled up. Just doing their jobs. Wtf?? What kind of fundraiser is that?

It's the first and only time a Frenchman has ever disappointed me. Merde.

AMFYOYO


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