One takes it that English, with its limited emotion, is the language of business; Italian, on the border of hysteria, of irritation; Spanish, of enthusiasm; German, argument—”Agree or I will keep spitting on you”; but French, when spoken softly, is the talk of love.
I do not understand many words in French, but I can read the speaker’s intention. And so it was when I suspected one young man say to an other, I want to put my tongue where no other has. In the second man’s brief hesitation, I could see the obvious question, Inner ear or nasal cavity? His final decision was, “Sure, why not.” The French are an agreeable lot.
Posted while drinking
Sambandar 