Because I needed to hear a dirty mind and mouth, I called Diana at work during my lunch hour. "What are you doing?"
"French women don't get fat," she replied. (She never answers hello.)
"Oh...they don't?"
"No! They get drunk instead."
"Okay, where are we going with this?"
"It's a stupid book. My fucking mind is churning over this shit."
Diana picked up this book that explains why French women don't get fat; it's because they lead outdoorsy lives, drink copious amounts of wine, and pay attention to their zippers. This pisses Diana off. "Fuck French women."
"That's not nice. What are you doing reading that book anyway?" (Diana's barely a size 4.)
"You know I'm fucking Robert." (Robert is Diana's Parisian go-to-fuck. He's in Chicago until late November.)
"Okay?"
"And I wanted to read something about France, so I borrowed Gina's book."
"Are you going to finish it?"
"No. I'm ordering liver and onions for lunch, from the Greek place. This book can kiss my twat."
I don't know if it's true French women don't get fat, but I know an American women who is pissed about the idea that French women don't get fat. Oy.