Why, thank you, Georges!

Hanging around with Georges is a little like having two husbands, and it is possible to have too much of a good thing.

Mais non, je plaisante.

All day long, starting yesterday, I have been hearing the little jabs about how expensive this particular brick is, as in, "Why did you have to select this very expensive brick that just gouged us when anyone else would choose what everyone else chooses that's a lot cheaper."

And, like you do with your husband, I smile disarmingly and say, "Oui, c'est beau, n'est-ce pas?" It wears on you after awhile. I try not to let it show, while praying for this to be over.

Then, the pillar started to go up. In the beginning, it wasn't much to look at, and that lower extra soldier course alongside the step down into the courtyard from the street definitely leaves something to be considered, hanging out there all by itself, unattached to any context that helps it make sense. Then, it started to... be.

"Cest beau, n'est-pas?" Jose grinned and nodded. No one discusses cost with him, or if they do, he doesn't care. He's not getting a cut on profits and he'll get paid anyway. Georges walked over.

"C'est vrai que c'est beau. C'est une belle brique. Vous avez bon goût, Madame Sisyphe," which amounts to "It's true that it's really nice. It's a beautful brick. You have nice taste, Madame Sisyphe." Sisyphe is not my real name, of course. It's my muse and my "nom de plume", de travail dur, de survie et d'espoir.

Why, thank you, Georges; that's why I'm the architect.

I thought that, I didn't say it. I said, "Voyez, vous-pouvez mettre ça dans vos matériels publicitaires pour impressionner vos clients futurs, 'Ah! Mais que c'est beau. Vous faites d'excellent travail!' ils diront. Ils viendront par des centaines pour des projets magnifiques!" I winked. Or, I would have if I were any good at it.

Instead, I just smiled disarmingly again.
....