— Knock knock.

— Who is it?

— It’s me.

— Oh, it’s you — the prodigal daughter… What do you want?

— Can we talk?

— Aren’t we already?

— Yes, but I’d rather do it without a door between us. Can I come in?

— Sorry, I’m busy.

— Busy? Alright… doing what?

— I’m ... doing my hair.

— Your hair? Since when do languages have hair? You just made that up. Come on, let me in.

— I said no.

— I know you’re angry, but I really need to talk to you.

— Oh, now you want to talk? Go talk to your dear French. And tell him to watch his weight — he’s getting fat.

— Yeah. He’s getting a bit chubby.

— Chubby? I mean… have you seen that belly?

— That was the point, actually. So… is there anything I can do for you?

— Ditch him. Come back to where we left off.

— I’m sorry. I can’t.

— Then I have nothing else to say. Aw-re-war!

— It’s au revoir. Besides, you shouldn't be dabbling in other languages.

— Seriously? That's rich coming from you...

— Wait. Have you been eavesdropping?

— Maybe, but know that 30% of my corpus comes from French. How do you like that, little dimwit?

— Noted. ...You can lock your door now if you want. Moving on.

🦻🏼