One of the chefs came up to me today as I was cutting carrots into little rectangles and asked coyly, “Do you have un ami that bit your ear this weekend?”

“Non, chef,” I replied, a bit confused. Then I remembered a little while back to an evening when I burnt my ear with my hair straightener. Later, I went to check it out and discovered that the backside of my earlobe was one big, crusty, burn-scab. Yuck-O! No wonder these people hate me: who wants some nasty American with a scabby ear touching their food? Part of me wanted to run to the chef and say, “Chef! Remember four hours ago when you asked me about my ear? It was a lisse-cheveux, I swear!” And then the thinking part of my brain kicked in and made me realize that nothing would make me look more like an idiot than the truth.