In three days, I will see all of Sebastien’s family at our wedding reception. This might be a problem.
A number of his relatives only speak French, a language that now eludes. I used to know how to speak it because I spent two years living in France. I picked up words and phrases by trial and error: If you want cigarettes bad enough, you learn how to ask for them in any language.
But now that is all gone. And the only things I remember how to say are vulgarities and bawdy jokes.
So although I can tell Sebastien’s cousin to go fuck himself, asking if he is enjoying the meal might be a stretch.
I’ll probably just smile and keep my mouth shut.