On the day I was stopped by police for possible involvement in an attempt to assassinate Jacques Chirac, I went to a saloon in Paris and brought a puppet I had purchased as a gift for my son. At first the puppet stayed in its backpack, but then he insisted on being brought out.

How was I to know that he had a foul mouth? A French-speaking English woman drinking with a group from work popped in to translate now and then because the puppet had little fluency in French. This did not stop him from buying rounds and of course, I had to apologize to everyone for the puppet’s generally rude behavior. On my left (puppet’s right) were two French guys, intrigued, commenting from time to time on the puppet’s behavior and largesse. They say, “you know how Americans are” but I tell you, puppets are worse. They really are.