Say hello to my little friend...

Michael arrived on Wednesday, and it's been a joy to have him in Paris. Here I am, with my boyfriend, on semi-vacation, in the most romantic city in the world. And we don't even have to pay for lodging. How charmed can a life be?

And it really raises some fantastic linguistic points. In French, the term for boyfriend is "petit copain," which, if you translate it literally, means "little friend." Talk about opportunities! Like at the pickup soccer game we played in together today, I was able to say, by way of introduction, (in French, but I'll translate it): My name is Kelly (pause, gesture) - and that's my little friend.

If you don't think that's hilarious then you're clearly possessed of a sense of humor much more sophisticated than mine. You poor, laughless bastard.

The immense potential for hilarity in this little phrase motivated me to research a little more on the word "boyfriend," and led to some telling discoveries. That, for example, the word "boy" is derived from "boie," meaning: servant, commoner, knave. This, in turn, comes from the old french "embuie," or, "one fettered." ("Fettered with what?" one wonders. "A 'little friend'?" ) This from the Latin boia: "Leg iron, yolk, leather collar." This from the Greek boeiai dorai: ox hides.

I'll just leave you to your own thoughts for a moment. Hopefully your sophisticated sense of humor doesn't ruin all the fun.

Hoping to find something a little less demeaning for our little friends, I looked up husband. Those of you who know anything about husbandry will be quick to predict that the results were not so much more flattering. I give you an exerpt:

The sense of "peasant farmer" (c.1220) is preserved in husbandry (first attested c.1380 in this sense). Beginning c.1290, replaced O.E. wer as "married man," companion of wif, a sad loss for Eng. poetry.

And a sad loss for English-speaking men, too, who seem to have gotten the short end of some linguistic stick. Maybe the same stick that beat their oxen hides so many years ago.

But to bring us back to the present. I feel a little strange referring to someone as pleasant and lovely as Michael as a knave, or servant. Not to mention that I don't want any implications of leg irons and leather collars to sneak their way into my simple introductions. And when I asked him, just now, if he felt at all fettered, he said no. (Then he [quite reasonably] wanted to know why I asked, but he'll just have to wait and find out with the rest of you. Little friends don't get any special treatment in the cutthroat world of internet blogging.)

So, as we traipse around Paris, enjoying food, friends, the Marais, soccer, the sights, and so forth, I will continue on my chosen path. I will say, (in French for now, but maybe I'll keep up the habit in English when I get home): "So nice to meet you! I'm Kelly. And now say hello to my little friend."