To be tri-lingual.
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There is something very, very off-putting about a small child that speaks in more than one language. Have you noticed that? One minute they are grinning a gappy smile and asking for lollipops, crayons and play dough (how adorable!) but when you can't provide it, that smile turns sour and next thing you know they are abusing you...in German. They seem to take pleasure in the fact that you don't understand them. This actually causes them to say it louder and more aggressively. And why shouldn't they? After all, you don't actually know German and of course, you didn't provide the play dough. I would love to be tri-lingual, or at least bi-lingual. For starters, you would never be outsmarted by said child ever again! Somewhat more romantically, you could go to Paris and speak fashion a la Francophone. You could speak the language of love, wear dark sunglasses and tie your hair in a chignon. You could say "oh la la" and be taken seriously for once. And you could pick up baguettes from the boulangerie and not feel like you are revising GCSE French. Yes, I want to have a mother tongue and another tongue. Learning a language as a language to be learnt, takes away its mystery, it takes away that "je ne sais quoi". Well, it seems that my chance for bi-linguality is past. So I guess I will just have to make do with my memories of year 11 french, Madame Frites and her endless obsession with Clementine videos. My consolation is that even if I do forget all of my French vocab, immaturity means I will always be able to acknowledge when I am, "en retard" and that in itself amuses me greatly...
