The clock ticks softly,

Jan 05, 2006 21:05

... and having tocked, moves on.

M (our Mauritian aide) is sick. Infected sinuses. Tragedy strikes the number1son household as we are reduced to eating Swiss-style. One word sums it all up: urgh.

At least AL (the Valaisanne temporarily replacing M) doesn't boil our saucisses de veau like A the Polish One did. Did I tell you about A? Mrs number1son fired her. The official reason was that she was hopeless in the kitchen, which she was. However, Mrs number1son sees the world in black and white. A is a sixty year old Polish exile, with many tales to tell. I thoroughly enjoyed listening to her exalt her motherland and talking about Roman Polanski (whom she knows) and the goings on of the Polish communities in Paris and Geneva. I also learned a great deal of Polish history (and the difference between Polish and Ukrainian borscht), something which I was never taught in school. It must be said though that she was a teeny-weenie bit racist. In fact, she got quite rabid on occasions, and this was something which upset Mrs number1son immeasurably. So she had to go.
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