Jean-Claude: “Why are you making such a big deal about getting out of bed?”

Bernadette: “Because this is a French film. I must ponder all philosophical implications before taking any action. Right now, I am thinking of the underpaid workers who built this hotel. The suffering, the torment, the absence of a lunch break in pre-union times.”

Jean-Claude: “Those people are all dead, all of the good hotels in Paris were built when Jesus was a child.”

Bernadette: “But I must pay tribute to them in some way. Perhaps compose a poem? Or maybe I could do some performance art using the mints someone left on our pillows?”

Jean-Claude: “We don’t have time for this. We have a wine-tasting at 9am sharp. At the Sartre vineyards.”

Bernadette: “Sartre would want me to attend, as a celebration of his insistence that our people overthink things and read obtuse literary passages. But he would also want me to scoff at any show of sheep-like conformity. I’m so confused. I must speak to my therapist.”

Jean-Claude: “I have your therapist in the car. His name is Vodka. You’ll get along just fine.  Now put your existential panties on and let’s go.”

(Originally posted in Crusty Pie.)