My husband is French. From the south. He's the geek of geeks, can be quite the egocentric French b*$^\rd and very proud of his heritage. An intelligent and knowledgeable man who is also so full of shit. He talks a lot. When it gets really excessive, I switch off. He knows it but carries on anyway. He's picked up Singlish expletives and words from the Malay language and so now he thinks the cashiers at the petrol station are always gossiping about him. Every now and then, he breaks out into new alter egos in the middle of the night - The African dancer, El Matador, Stripper from Texas etc. He looks into the mirror more frequently than I do, obsessively pluck the hairs on his fingers and had manicured nails that glowed in the dark when I first met him. He has a long term love affair with my brother. Loves sambal goreng paru, is fascinated by science and space and is very bitchy behind closed doors. He doesn't remember most of the people he's been introduced to, he insists it's half of Singapore. He's definitely funnier in person.
Pippi’s bike cannot start. If there is one person who can help, it’s not me.The Husband
Let’s go bébé, we have a kid, we need to sleep.
The Husband, 2013 closing quote (we were in the kitchen btw)
When we call him Gael Matin, don’t you think it sounds very atas?
I think his first word is (h)eeeeey. That’s how he greets humans, animals and electronic devices. #gaelmatinthevenet
The people at work wants to make a T-shirt. I have this French guy in the office. He was talking to me in French at 9am. I totally didn’t understand the hell he was saying so I said “I’m sorry I don’t speak French in the morning”. And they want to print that on the T-shirt.
If Gael gets a girlfriend I’m ready for it. It’ll happen by kindergarten.