I was sitting on the wall of the Cairns Esplanade, as I do every Sunday morning après run and swim, drinking coffee and watching the tide come in. I was also listening in, quite unashamedly, on a conversation between two French tourists. From what I could work out, from my high school French, it was all about another woman and a man and they were pretty pissed off at her because he shouldn’t be seeing her. I suspect he was supposed to be with one of the other woman. The thing that fascinated me about their convo was the word ‘whatever’ was sprinkled liberally among the flying French words.
Elle est moche. Je ne vois pas pourquoi il aime sa mais whatever.
Il peut avoir. Whatever.
Sacre Blue. Eiffel Tower
Whatever! Il est un cochon! Me donner gateau! Whatever. Croissant! Éclair! Merde!
J'espère que sa balle tomber! Whatever. Poisson!
Whatever! J'ai besoin de café avec mon gâteau!
Me donner vin! Patisserie!!! Arc de Triomphe!
Merde! Whatever! Pompadour!