French Cars. Still Foreign To Me.

Buon Giorno mi amici. Oggi ti vuol parlare come’ la macchina franchese.

No mi piace la macchina franchese. La macchina franchese non e’ bella. La machina franchese look like the froggie. OK, OK, I am just proving that not all things are foreign to me. I can speak a little Italian (accent on little and bad), and a little Japanese, and I can even say “hello” in Objiwe. Still, some things will always remain a little foreign to me.

Like French cars.

And frankly, because the French are the French, they could care less what I think. (C’est magnifique!) I have always admired their balls for producing cars that remain years ahead of their time, yet something remains so terribly odd about their vehicles.

Of course, odd — a la Oscar Wilde, Truman Capote, Bill Gates and countless other odd fellows and females in history — is good. Yet to me, when talking about French cars, still foreign.

In the spirit of full disclosure my dispeptic mood may just stem from the affront I received from the driver of a Citroen CV2 (it may be back, see here) waiting to pull out of the parking lot.

(He, like, pee-sez me off, and here is what I had to say.)