F-in Bahlee It’s moving day. Mom, Bob, and Bett are switching apartments to the one they originally wanted (but was not available) on Rue Claude Pouillet. This new one is bigger, with a full kitchen and adjoining breakfast room, a foyer, a real living room, a larger bedroom with a queen-sized bed, and a bathroom with a combination washer/dryer. The new spot is only two blocks away from their Rue de Levis apartment, but our move is delayed by three hours. Hmm, three hours to kill with five of us in a “miniscule” (say with French accent) apartment. I pop “Billy Elliot” into the DVD player (thanks to Leroy who figured out how to make it work), and we three ladies proceed to cry our little eyes out. “F-in bahlee, Billy. Bahlee is for lasses, not
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