On our last day in Shenandoah -- ha! I am not going to tell you about our last day in Shenandoah. Many of you have probably already written the Director of Tourism in the great state of Virginia to ask him (or her) to please clean up his (or her) act in the area, as you are tired of reading my blogs detailing the every fault of a city that cannot pronounce its (or his or her) own name correctly.

And so today we will continue the traveling/adventure theme, albeit in a completely different part of the country. So different that it is not even in this country. I am talking here about France.

As I have never been to France, this entry will either be (a) very short or (b) completely made up. (And no, in case you are wondering, the stories about Shenandoah and Staunton are not completely made up. These places do exist, and I really am married to Joe. Beyond that, I'm not saying.)

I have read that in France, it is considered impolite to (a) ask someone their name and (b) ask what they do. This readily explains why the French refer to us as "those dumb Americans." They are not allowed to ask us our names, so they make one up. It also explains why they think we are all cowboys. In the absence of any firsthand knowledge of our occupations, they go by what they see on American television.

Though the closest I have been to France is talking to a gentleman at church who is French, I imagine these cultural restrictions make for very short conversations between natives and foreigners.

Dumb American cowboy: Hey, where's the Eiffel Tower?
Frenchman: (snickering) It is right behind you, monsieur (loosely translated, you idiot).
Dumb American cowboy: Oh! Didn't see it. Thanks. Say, what did you say your name was?
Frenchman: (runs, screaming)

These conversations, of course, merely reinforce the opinion of the French that Americans are rude and uncultured. They also make Americans wonder just what is in all that famous French wine, anyway, and where they can get some.

But if the French would just loosen up a bit and relax these restrictions, imagine what enlightening conversations could be possible between us:

Dumb American cowboy: Hey, where's the Eiffel Tower?
Frenchman: (snickering) It is right behind you, monsieur.
Dumb American cowboy: Oh! Didn't see it. Thanks. Say, what did you say your name was?
Frenchman: Armand. And yours?
Dumb American cowboy: George.
Frenchman: I knew it!