For the first two weeks of French, Andy and I were in different classes held at different times. Well, no more. Our two larger classes were rearranged at the beginning of this week into five smaller ones, and despite my pleas to the powers that be, we ended up in the same class. (Kidding. There were no pleas. No casual requests even.)
Truth be told, though, I was a little worried about how this all would go. Would I get frustrated if Andy caught on more quickly than I did? Would we get sick of spending all day every day together? Would Abbey rip the carpet to shreds in retribution for being abandoned by both of us at once?
Much to my surprise, it’s actually turned out fine. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it’s turned out well. We’re pretty evenly stacked as French learners: I remember more vocabulary and grammar than Andy, but his pronunciation doesn’t draw our professor’s ire the way mine does. (Side note: I’ve made no progress in Operation Conquer the French R.)
I’ve even discovered some perks to sharing a class with Andy. Like, if I finish my Coke Zero, there’s another one there for me to steal.
As for Abbey, she’s been sleeping her way through our absence just like before.
So, all is well. Well, everything except the fact that we’re supposed to be speaking real French by the middle of December. (My end of training exam date is officially set for December 14.) I still don’t see how that’s going to happen…
