Mec débile courir dans la road

 I hurry the children along, but we should be ok. Every Tuesday we have barely a quarter of an hour to gather the three of them from their different classes, bundle them into the car and head to the music academy where Molly's music lessons are held. 

I strap Louise in, close the boot after Elsie and Molly have put their bags in, and get into the driver's seat. As I check my mirrors I see a jogger coming towards us down the road. "Come on, come on" I mutter, and he continues along the road. 

"Pourquoi pas drive?" Louise asks me in her typical fashion, the last word of the sentence making allowances for the fact that she knows I always speak to her in English. 

"I just have to let this jogger past" I explain, glancing at my watch and breathing out.

"Go, go go!" I direct at the jogger in question, as he runs around the car and continues, finally joining the pavement.

"Mais il est débile ce mec !" Molly exclaims.

"Molly! Don't be rude, he might just be trying not to come into contact with other people."

When you're out running you don't have to wear a mask and I know from my own experience that it feels easier to keep a wide berth from anyone who might not appreciate an unmasked face at this tail end of the year we will always remember for its global pandemic.

"Faut dire papa !" Louise says, as we make our way down the road towards the academy.

"What do you want to tell Daddy love?" I ask.

"Faut dire mec débile courir dans la road !"

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