what I really want is Freedom Fries.

There's plenty of room for improvement, but so far my French has been decent. My definition of "decent" is that everything I trip up in conversation could be mistaken as a bizarre sense of humor or compulsive lying. My definition of "room for improvement" is roughly equivalent to the distance between my index finger and Mars.

The one thing I have never gotten right is the distinction between fruit and fries. If I ask for one, they give me the other. Calling them apples and potatoes doesn't simplify the situation at all, because those two words are just as similar in French. While waiting to order today I practiced over and over. I want fruit. I do not want fries. Fruit, fries. Fries, fruit. Fry juice, french fruits. Then I asked for fruit. But when I went to pick up the bag it was fries.

A sane person would have gone back to the counter and practiced fries vs fruit some more, this time with a visual. A tired person would have just eaten the fries. But I was way more than tired and wasn't into either option. What does it take to get some fruit in this city? Why can't anyone pay close attention to the way I pronounce the ends of words?

So instead of complaining or eating I walked 10 minutes to the port where the same woman always sits on corner with a sign and a stuffed monkey that has seen better days. I presented her the bag and asked: "Excuse me, Ma'am, would you like some fries?"

In beautiful French. And she understood me perfectly.