My hair looks good today, I polished away the flu with a little blush, and I’m wearing that LBD that makes every day a good day. Even though it’s Monday – or maybe it especially brightens up a Monday. I want to sit down in a bar, with a way to densely written 19th century novel, order a small glass of wine (or two), and be a model citizen by helping an old lady carry her suitcase up the stairs when I catch the S-bahn back. I feel like the embodiment of the French “je ne sais quoi” and all I want to do is carelessly light a cigarette, whilst I’m strutting through the streets of Berlin.
The only problem is I’m not in France, and I don’t know enough of German sayings – all I know is that the grammar frustrates me. No strut, just running my eyes over foreign words that look too similar to my first language. No bars, no wine, no cigarettes, because it’s still that ever dreaded Monday and I don’t smoke.
Then again… “C’est la vie” has always been more powerful than “Je ne sais quoi.”