Bread pudding part 2: 1/29/2016

I am still reeling about the Bread Pudding Lady. I think if I phrased my answer in the form of a question, there would have been less Jeopardy. (Sorry Ro, you gave great advice to avoid forced corny humor when blogging, and you're right, but I couldn't resist just this once) If I asked "do you speak English" I wouldn't have been chewed out.  I think she looked at it as an ORDER, as in " speak ENGLISH, you senile old witch!" Still, Club Med's advertising campaign slogan ever since the 70's has been "A Club Med Vacation: The Anti-Dote to Civilization."  They would't use a word that had "civil" in it if they met Bread Pudding Lady. Also, last night, as I stood in the soup line, (and OMG, YES I realize how insensitive I sound when describing a soup line  at an all-inclusive resort) I pointed to what looked like a hunk of raw meat and wondered if I guessed correctly.  I say to the soup chef: "English?" and the lady next to me answers, "why yes I am, from just outside of London." I laughed, and gave her a Reader's Digest version of the language issues we've been encountering since Monday, and she smiled at me and offered:  "Then don't ever go to Martinique." I finally reach the soup server, who looked a little bemused at the exchange between me and the Brit. And this is all so weird since this is the first time I've been in a Club Med since finding my HS french teacher on Facebook a few months ago.  Mrs. Barbara R.Bravo, you really DID teach me well but I am sixty and can barely  remember anything in  English. Where was I?  Oh yeah, so the bemused soup ladler is holding up his forefinger and saying:  "Guadeloupe, One?" What did he mean?  Was this my first time here? Did I only want one bowl of soup? Or was he giving me the results of a rugby match: "Guadeloupe one, Martinique, zero?" Jim is still practicing daily on the balcony. He doesn't quite get that not only do we not need to know how to say "that looks like a delicious strawberry" now, we never will again. He briefly lost his temper with me last night when the Internet was down and I told him to go to the reception desk for help. "They can't even follow which one of us was having a birthday--they're going to know about spotty Wi-fi?"  He danced off the snippiness at a beach party later on.  My man can MOVE!! We will be home in a few days and we will decompress. I'm not even bitching about endless laundry because there isn't any when one hand washes bathing suits daily. I'm not even complaining about overloading the DVR, because the only thing I'm really upset about missing is tomorrow night's SAG Awards. OK Rochelle Polonsky Napoli, I promise, this is my last  stupid, forced, blatant line: "If I wanted to see who wins a SAG award, I'd  stand next to the topless frenchwomen when I pee in the ocean today."