One year in Vermont

Yesterday, I was waiting for the bus in Piata Romana when I heard three English tourists asking the lady selling bus tickets for directions. She gave them the wrong ones. I wanted to help them (I was also really pissed because the same woman had refused to extend my bus card). So, I opened my mouth. And, to my amazement I spoke in a very nasal, sing song voice: “ Nahw, she’s stuh-pid. She gave you the wrong di-rek-tions. If you wanna reach the aeir-porht you gotta git on the 183 bus. That’s the right one. Take care and have a safe trip. Aight?”. So much for 12 years trying to get that perfect Brit accent. One year in Vermont ruined all my efforts.

Ups, I also remembered how last week I said that my friend Alice studies in France, in Mon-peh-liahr (Mon-pi-li-ar pt romani). My poor French teacher, she would have died of shame.