I'd like to tell you a little story. It's a little story called:
"Lisa Beats Up a Mime" or "Silent Carnage in Paris"
When I was 14, I went to France with my first year French teacher and a bunch of kids and teachers from all the junior highs in Fauquier County. My best friend Tricia went too, so we knew it was going to be fun. Anyway, at some point during the trip, (I know it was in Paris, but I don't remember what we were doing that day), we came across a mime in one of the subway stations. Now, I need to interject here that mimes bother me. They are scary and I don't like them. Needless to say, I was not pleased when this particular mime singled me out and decided to make friends with me. I politely asked him to leave me alone, even got my French teacher to tell him in French in case he didn't speak English. Did he listen? NO. The son of a bitch followed us onto the subway train and kept his little act going the whole time. Others were laughing, which I assumed egged him on, because I was pissed. We got off the train and that damn freakin' mime got off with us. He followed us out of the subway station and into the courtyard (I want to think this was the day we went to the Louvre. I could be mistaken.), doing his mime bit the whole way. One of my other (ahem) "friends" on the trip, a very fine-looking young man by the name of Paul, began to get angry with the mime and told him to go away. When the mime actually reached out and grabbed my arm, I flipped and out came Turbo-Bitch Mode. Paul turned around and punched the mime in the face and I gave him a nice memorable kick to the stomach, followed by many to his side and shins. Down went the mime. . .and out came the longest string of what I assumed to be French cuss words. The mime broke his silence. *tsk tsk* Oh, well. So, that's my story of the mime who didn't have a clue and the girl who had to go house on him. Thank you and have a nice day.
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