So far my menial tasks include teaching my beloved grandpa how to use Skype, Facebook and upload photos using "that damned contraption." I'm also relegated to sorting old photos, which I am secretly excited for. It's hard, you know, to maintain the correct dilapidated attitude required of a slave. French grandparents should be overjoyed and shocked to know that thus far I've unpacked in an orderly fashioned, refrained from leaving my things everywhere, and cleaned all my dishes within ten minutes of using them.
Je suis une grande fille maintenant.
I've also been gifted some fuzzy "indoor shoesies" as the british call them. They look like dead cats, and if you aren't prepared for the sight of them in a darkened room, you may get extraordinarily frightened.
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