Very late Saturday night, Stéph, his closest university buddies and I are seated around a table playing Uno. Doc has just stepped away to tend to her son, precipitating a break in the game.
S: (indicating my obvious roots growing in) What's all this, then?
Me: Oh, my doctor recommended I stop dying my hair.
S: Why?
Me: There's a small chance it can cause problems with the pregnancy, so we decided it wasn't worth the risk.
Stéph: Because of the ammonia used in the product.
S: But it looks awful!
Me: (shrugging) C'est la vie !
N: Isn't that crazy! You get to be ugly*, fat, you can't eat any of the good foods...
Me: (crossing my eyes and making a face) Yes, it's the most beautiful time of my life!
(laughter)
Meh, don't take these guys too seriously, they were just teasing, especially considering they are all either fathers themselves or are trying to be. But honestly, if showing my frighteningly grey/white roots (which started growing in at the tender age of 19 - no wonder I have no idea what my natural color is anymore!) and packing on a few extra pounds are the price I have to pay to bring French Fry into the world, I reckon it could be a lot, lot worse.
*ugly is a pretty rough translation when what he actually said was "moche," which isn't quite so harsh, at least in my mind. That being said, I've never encountered a Frenchie that wasn't, well, frank in their opinions, either!
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