Les Folies des Françaises

Scene: Wednesday afternoon, home of P and C, my young french charges.

P is in the bathroom, preparing to leave for a birthday party at a
bowling alley, down a picturesque little street, the Rue Mouffetard,
in an older section of Paris.

P is not exactly a tomboy, but she is definitely not a "girlie
girl". She plays football, is a whiz at card games (don't let this
kid loose in Vegas), collects Pokemon cards, doesn't play with dolls
(except for the castle, knights and dragons in her room), and is
_not_ a big fan of 'Hello, Kitty.'

However, she is still a "jeune française".

After lacing up her sturdy brown boots, and zipping up her polar
fleece pullover, she stood up and looked in the mirror.

"Il faut que je me recoiffe."

So, she proceeded to pull the ponytail holder from her long, curly
blonde locks. She then brushed them smooth, did up her ponytail
again, and turned her head delicately from side to side to admire her
work.

Satisfied, she turned to me and flashed a cute, smug little smile.

She may not mince around in heels sporting Chanel No. 5, but she is
still ever so very French.