My morning conversation with my office mate, reconstructed to the best of my ability:
Brigitte: why are you sitting in the cafeteria this morning?
Me: the woman who is my desk is here today.
Brigitte: Oh, that’s right—Véronique is here. The desk by the door is free, though.
Me: each one is sitting at the desk by the door today.
Brigitte: no, there’s no one there.
Me: it’s OK—I is leaving early today.
Sigh… Hope I can manage to get one non-idiotic sentence out of my mouth before I go home in a month…
Zipf's Law 
Chovek, try Iddish and don’t worry;) Your friend Gogo
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Lipsva mi Gogo!!
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:))
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I’ve heard that during WWII, American GIs would try to talk to French rabbis in Yiddish, and in their Yiddishkeit-centric world couldn’t understand how these rabbis could be rabbis. (Apparently Golda Meir had a similar reaction to a group of Israeli immigrés who failed to understand her speech in Yiddish.)
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I asked the sales lady in a Jewish socialist bookstore about Yiddish fluency in Paris, and she said that only old people speak it.
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