In Which Dig Discovers Which Language It's More Fun to Be Angry In

I've been waiting for a package to be delivered for almost two weeks now. We ordered the items (baby gates to keep Rosie away from the all-you-can-eat-ashes buffet at the wood stove) online and the company kindly gave us a tracking number so I can play "Where in the World Are Those Gates" at all times of the day.

I followed the package from Austria, to France, to the big town near us, and finally to the warehouse. Where the gates sit. And wait. For Armageddon.

The messages on the site told me that there was one day several days ago that they actually tried to deliver the gates but due to a mauvaise adresse, they weren't able to. And here's where I get a little miffed. Our address is probably the most simple address in the world:

Wacky English Speaking Family with Howling Dogs
Tiny Village on the Hill
In the département everyone else thinks is a Shit Hole
France

We have no official street name or number, true enough, but finding us is like finding a Starbucks in D.C.

I called the company to discuss this little problem and after a convoluted experience that I can't even being to explain, I finally found myself talking to one of the receptionists and using very wonderful French phrases like, J'en ai marre, c'est ridicule, and vous êtes nuls in a very loud and angry voice, the woman switched to English.

Damn her. DAMN HER.

All the force and rhythm that I had built up in my tirade, got squashed. There was no way I was able to continue my rant now that she had changed the flow of my anger. My brain turned to mush and I struggled to remember what planet I was on and just what words I wanted to say. I tried for a nano-second to continue my diatribe in English, but would you believe it? I needed to go back to French.

I don't know who was more confused, me or the poor woman on the phone, to realize that for the first time in nearly 7 years, I found myself happier to be yelling and cussing in grammatically challenged French. You have no idea how strange that seems to me. Thank God, I think I'm still able to yell coherently in English at the tribe. Whether it's effective or not is a whole 'nother story.

Alas, after all this colère, the disputed package is due to arrive chez nous Monday, sometime between 8 a.m. and 6 p.m.

Mon dieu.