In the car, we laughed all the way home about "how to get along with the French." I probably shouldn't have pulled that ruse with the expresso, but he'd irritated me with his "Mom!" routine. And.. I simple couldn't resist showing him how to get along with the French. He bit big time.
But back at the house, the joke was on us. Thanks to the expresso, Michelle and I weren't sleepy at all so we sat around the kitchen table until 2 a.m. laughing about the evening. I'm ashamed to report that most of our mirth was caused by our imitations of our crude, but well-meaning, dinner partner. Michelle had him down particularly well except that she mispronounced the F word.
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