15 Painful Truths For Very Mal Canadian French Speakers
Avec les translations (désolé).
You've taken French since you were in, like, grade 3 by force of the Canadian government but you don't resent them for it because what a great opportunity.
You know to write out "français" with the fancy squiggly which basically grants you the right to sip tea with the pinky UP.
A young you envisioned yourself as a bilingual Canadian who can oscillate between the two languages effortlessly and with musical fluency.
You're now an adult with a decade of French under your belt and you have nothing to show for it.
You're still unable to form une phrase completement but your Franglish is totally on point.
To you, Franglish is an artform that only the truly incapable, but stubbornly resilient, can master.
...Which has either endeared fluent and native French parleurs...
Or has completely pissed them off.
Everything is "je suis." Je suis Tanya. Je suis sweating. Je suis a lot of laundry to do later so I can't make it out tonight, sorry.
But you keep trying, and you keep trekking, because you continue to believe in the beautiful institution of the French language.
When your aunties at Christmas find out you took a bunch of years of French and ask you to speak French:
Your level of French: Drunk.
You will never oublié "DR MRS VANDERTRAMP" but you've oubliéd the actual verbs.
Look, you were told knowing French was imperative to finding a job, which is why you've stuck by it for so many years.
And guess what, mom and dad?! My French may be abominable, but I have a job.
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