Fwaaaaaaaaaaa . . .

Vendetta's off. Advisor accepted my word I didn't plagiarise, probably because I told him my dear mother's suggestion that I copy out a kajillion of the drafts I saved and explain the transition from one to another, and Mr. S's suggestion that I find a Canadian professor with a background in contemporary North American relations who'd be able to say I didn't copy. Perhaps Advisor thought it would just be more for him to read. So I won't kill France, after all.

Other good news: Stéphane Rousseau got to my apartment this morning. The ten minutes I watched before my opera lesson made me laugh three times. I'll need to watch them again before I know if I was laughing at the funniness, or out of happiness that I know another language enough to watch stand-up comedy in it, or if I was just giggling because, you know, I saw one of his nipples.