Some people you meet for the first time and you just get on from the very beginning. That was the case when I met my fake Canadian friend Barbara on the French Muse trip in May. She became known as a “fake Canadian” due to the fact that she was British but now lives in British Columbia, Canada.
Barbara quickly became my comrade in arms. Whenever someone asked, “Does anyone want a glass of wine?,” we were the first to raise our hands. Good friends don’t let friends drink alone, ha ha.
On our first day after arriving at the bastide where we would stay for the week, our host asked if after we had a chance to settle in we would like to gather on the terrace for some champagne. Without missing a beat, Barbara stomped her foot and exclaimed “Champagne? I HATE it when we have champagne!” (She was kidding, of course.)
Barbara stayed on in France after I returned home from that trip and went on to visit with her family in England. We were all very curious as to how she was going to get away with carrying these large old wooden fork and rake treasures back to Canada on an airplane.
She does a spot on impression of her mother in a royal British accent that always had us falling off our chairs laughing. I so regret that I didn’t record her so I could listen any time I needed a laugh. It sounded as if Barbara had been a challenge when growing up (for those of us who’ve met her, that comes as no surprise), and her imitation of how her mother used to admonish her was hysterically funny.
When we stopped to take photos of the poppy fields, I stepped out of the car to take a photo with Barbara’s camera and I handed her my phone to hold. Not until later that day when looking through the photos on my phone did I realize that she took a photo of my butt. (Thanks, Barbara, I’ve always wanted a photo like this one.)
Later that first day as we gathered for champagne and dinner on the terrace, we learned that after many hours on airplanes from Canada to France the person seated next to her on the plane had spilled wine during the flight directly into her lap. She had come from the airport and an overnight flight and then spent a full day wearing the same clothes as we spent that first day visiting antique dealers.
When we learned about her mishap she promptly informed us, however, that “I did NOT wet my pants, but I’ve been walking around with a sticky wicket all day!”
Missing you, Bah-bah-rah. Hope your wicket has been dry but that there’s been no shortage of wine and champagne in your fake Canadian corner of the world.