A cheesy apology

Our trip to Paris still months away, Sydney expressed a moment of concern this evening as we bustled about the kitchen. "Mom, I don't know how to say I'm sorry in French." Pushing away my impulse to ask my daughter why she thought we'd be apologizing our way across Europe (because we probably would be), I instead wrinkled my brow in concentration as I quickly scanned my memory files, sifting through color and animal names, in search of the right word. "Fromage!" I yelled, "Tres fromage!" Sydney frowned. "That doesn't seem quite right," she said, reaching for the Kindle. She immediately began giggling about my "very cheesy" apology. I wasn't too far off, by the way, as I was probably thinking about the phase, "C'est dommage," which isn't exactly an apology but is closer than liberally sprinkling Parmesan into a social wound. I feel sorry for Paris already and the Mosiman women aren't even there yet. So...before I pack a single unfashionable garment into my suitcase...before I disrupt an entire planeload of people while I endure a painful case of "crawly toe"...before I offend the European continent as a whole by referring to their magnificent museum as the Loover...let me just say this:  Je suis désolée.