Lost in Translation

Sunday night around nine, Stephanie and I decided that we wanted a late dinner. We found a small cafe near the Bastille that was still serving. Our waiter immediately pegged us as Americans and insisted we use English menus. However, he would forget and lapse into asking me questions in rapid French. Stephanie was a French minor in college, so I kept looking at her dumbfounded, but he still continued to speak predominately to me. Either because he enjoyed flirting or because I amused him with my lack of foreign language skills. I did manage to greet him and order in mostly French. He would speak some English, too. Like when he asked me if I wanted ketchup with my fries, but he was equally dumbfounded by my "sure" reply. It only got worse.

30 minutes after we were through eating, he still hadn't brought us our bill. I politely said "excusez moi" and asked for the 'billet' (bill - for future reference, drop the t and change the ll to a y - beyay.) He joked about us leaving so early (it is now past 10:30, mind you) and I put my head on my hands to indicate I was tired. He (I thought) was confirming that I was tired, but apparently was asking me to sleep with him. Of course, this is in French, so I am nodding along like an idiot and Stephanie understands and is trying not to laugh. He translated for me so I was able to say "Non merci, I will not be coming home with you tonight", but they were both very tickled with the whole conversation.