We are all about romance in the Kamikaze household. You could hardly take a step in here yesterday without tripping over a rose petal, or something.
I am not embarrassed to say that I took the opportunity to read a little bit of French love poetry from one of my favorite works of
mommy porn historical literature.
Tant que je vive, mon cueur ne changera...
Mr. Kamikaze, to be honest, is not really into French poetry, but he listens, if only so that he can throw it back at me in some vaguely mocking context.
"I got your cueur," he will say - an expression not as much improved by the French as you might expect.
He is always surprising me like that. He doesn't seem to be listening at all, but then, weeks later he will quote my words back to me verbatim, only in a way that makes them sound ridiculous.
But even when we are not listening to one another, we often hear the same things.
We are listening to an NPR Valentine's Day story about the 14 lucky couples chosen for the once-a-year Empire State Building wedding ceremonies. Hundreds of romantics, it seems, dream of being married at the top of the building.
We are happy for them, we really are. But as one newlywed describes the long-distance romance that preceded her rose-strewn marriage proposal and her very tall wedding, Mr. K and I lock eyes in a wordless exchange of cynicism.
"Uh oh," I say. Who gave up what?
"Can you imagine," Mr. Kamikaze says, "the amount of pressure he must have been under?"
I think that is what is meant by the term "hopeless romantic."
This popped up in my reader, and I swear I thought it said, "World's Tallest Clit."
Apparently, my reader dropped the e. And now I'm a little sad, yet a little relieved.
Posted by: Mr Lady | February 15, 2009 at 05:09 PM
That would really be thinking out of the box.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | February 16, 2009 at 07:46 AM
Da-Yum that child is – there is something wrong with that child. World’s tallest clit, something wrong.
I can’t translate cueur. I got a monsieur, but no mon cueur.
So much that lives, sir will not change. Am I close?
It’s a shame to waste all this French on the knucklette above and the knucklehead here.
Posted by: Audubon Ron | February 16, 2009 at 01:02 PM
The poem, which appears in the sixth volume of Dorothy Dunnett's heart-pounding Francis Crawford series, first appeared around 1504, (according to "The Dorothy Dunnett Companion") and so uses an archaic spelling of the French word for heart.
However you spell it, this poem is pure chick bait. Though it doesn't hurt if you are also a multilingual 16th century lute-playing mercenary poet/swordsman who is built like a god.
The line is translated: "long as I live, my heart will never change..."
I read it for the history...
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | February 16, 2009 at 06:55 PM
I knew that.
Posted by: Audubon Ron | February 18, 2009 at 07:12 AM