7 stupid things that make living in the US worth it — according to my French self

A list of things you can rely on when you remember you used to have free healthcare!

  1. Kraft’s mac n’ cheese: honestly, this is one of the only things I feel like I ever missed as a kid growing up in France. I fucking love Kraft’s Mac n’Cheese. Now, I know I should feel ashamed for saying that, especially as a French person, because whether you want to hear it or not, Kraft’s Mac n’ Cheese has absolutely nothing to do with actual cheese. Cheese usually comes from some mammal’s titties, in the former form of milk, and I am sorry to tell you that, but milk DOES NOT come in powder. If that was the case it’d be a fucking nightmare for farmers to milk the cows in windy weather and they’d be sneezing the whole time.

2. Those little sponge-brushes you guys use to do the dishes: this makes doing the dishes very entertaining, and I am not really able to explain why. However, I do not understand why American people feel the need to actually clean their plates and dishes BEFORE putting them to wash (AGAIN) in the dishwasher. I feel like this is not very eco-friendly if you have to rinse your plates with water before putting them to wash. Just clean the whole thing with soap already and be done with it, it’ll waste less water and electricity and God knows Mother Earth needs it.

3. Movie theaters: another amazing thing I discovered in the US is that you can watch your movies on a huge screen (nothing spectacular so far, we do have movie theaters in Europe too, thanks for asking) on a cushy reclining seat that makes you feel like you’re in bed, but in a public space. Plus, they put you in love seats so you can make out with your lover and touch their genitals once the lights are out ( just kidding, you can do that with the lights on too, just be aware of that old lady behind you). This will happen naturally depending on the amount of drinks you had right before the movie started, when you were getting shit-faced at the theater’s bar. Another thing we don’t have in France because watching movies is one of the rare things we like to do sober — after we turned 17 at least and found out that sneaking apple vodka in the theater was fun but didn’t really sharpen our minds as movie critics.

4. Thrift stores: going through one of the many thrift stores you guys have all over the place is like going to Consumerism’s graveyards. I wouldn’t be surprised if the number of thrift stores soon exceeded the number of actual cemeteries around the country. My favorite sections are the porcelain cups’ one and the one with all the knick-knacks about Jesus and Clint Eastwood. Going to a thrift store is like going to a museum about the dying of our civilization, except in real time. Another avant-guarde concept the rest of the world will soon steal from you.

5. Tributes to Jesus: Jesus is everywhere around here! I come from a secular country that detached the State from any religion a long time ago. One of the first things I saw right after I got out of the airport and was off on the highway, was a truck with letter stickers at the back of it reading “There’s no one like Jesus”. I know what you’re thinking. Which Jesus are we talking about, right? Maybe this guy just had a really really good friend called Jesus, and maybe I’m wrong assuming he was alluding to the Christ. This only means there are way less people in France who have friends named Jesus. And if this was just a way to pay tribute to his dearest friend with stickers on his truck, then I’m all about this guy’s demonstration of love towards Jesus. “THERE’S NO ONE LIKE MY BFF” is a pretty cool statement to put on the back of your truck for everyone to see.

6. Gold diggers: they’re fun to watch. Whether they’re old people spending their Sundays on the American river or just ladies hanging out in Palm Spring’s fancy mansions with diamond rings at each finger.

7. Crack. Easier to find than unpasteurized cheese. Which is kinda weird, let’s be honest.

French-American writer. Comedian. Traveler. Witch. Featured on VICE (fr) — or how I got paid to write about my life instead of going to therapy. Paris//Chicago

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