The Grand Ballroom's dim light left everyone's pallor green and muddy; the French clown to my right seemed ghoulish and his rancid, pungent, smell didn't help my concentration as I leaned in close to him to translate, in whispers, the happenings on the stage at the far end of the room. "Il a gagne pour le premier prix pour le costume original....elle a gagne avec son ami pour le meilleur skit...je ne sais pas le mot..." I said in one amazing, run-on Franglais sentence. High School French class h…
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Posted on November 8, 2009 at 10:00am — 1 Comment