A/N: AW and I are really sorry.  We were attacked by merciless Nuzguls and were forced to write this tag-along story.  Fortunately for you, this is not a 10th, or even an 11th member fic... at least, not the way you’d imagine it.  We’re not that void of intelligence.
 

"Picture it: Sicily, the year was 1946...."

"That's not right."

"Ok...try: my backyard party, three years ago..."

"No, that's still not right... It was last summer, and it wasn't anywhere near the backyard... not till much later."

"Oh, fine. You and your obsession with details. I still like my introduction better. It had more character."

"Character, yes. Plagiarism, yes. Facts, flair, flavour...NO!"

"Kill joy."

"Who's telling this story? Me, or you?"

"You can tell it, so we get the 'facts' straight, and I'll make sure it's fun." *turns head... notices readers* "Pssst... they're here."

"Oh, hi! We should probably introduce ourselves... I'm Drew."

"And I'm AW... (the fun one)"

Drew: "And we're here to... Hey! I'm fun."

AW: "No, you're a teacher."

Drew: "I'm still fun. I make my daughter laugh."

AW: "She's 12 months old, and she'll laugh at toast."

Drew: "I'm still fun. You have to be fun to MST. I MST. Therefore, I. Am. Fun. Anyways... as I was saying... *glares at AW* We are here to tell you a story..."

AW: "A story that happened to a friend of a friend of mine..."

Drew: "Stop it! It did not, and you're going to get us into trouble with a lot of high-priced, fancy-talking lawyers if you're not careful!"

AW: "Okay, fine. I see what you're doing... kinda like Freakazo- *glances at Drew* Can't say it or I'll be *makes air quotes* sued. But, I'm reading ahead, and this is good stuff... good stuff.."

Drew: *wearyingly* "AW. You're doing it again."

AW: *sulks* "Fine. You start it."

Drew: "Alright... Um..." *looks sheepishly at Al* "How did it start?"

AW: "You were temping at the Rent-it-all dealership... *turns to audiance* *cheesie voice over guy* "Where our motto is: You can rent it all, but only one at a time!" *big toothpaste commercial grin* "And Al's Wait 'n' Eat Diner was closed for lunch, so I was over keeping you company." *to audience* "Al's Wait 'n' Eat... I'm a Waiter... Hence, *air quotes* Al's Waiter!"

*laugh track*

Both: *look around for laughing people*

Drew: "Riiiiight...

*flashback waves*

AW: *voice over* Ohh.. I hate those effects... I think I'm going to hurl.

Drew: *voice over* Have my BSB (1). We don't have time for you to leave, now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The pea-soup green Hippie van lurched forward, stopped, lurched forward, stopped, lurched forward, and shuddered to a halt. The engine sputtered, wheezed, coughed, spewed black smoke... and died. Eight of the strangest people (and I use the term loosely) pushed each other out of the rusty doors and took a collective gasp of air. After stretching out the various kinks acquired from being crammed into that sardine can for who knows how long, they staggered towards the Diner. Upon discovering it was closed for the noon hour, a plethora of colourful vocabulary rose up from the group. A short bearded man in a metal hat stomped back to the van, popped the hood, started muttering and using an... axe? ... to wave away the billowing smoke.

Just like every other lunch hour, AW sat on my table, I sat behind it, and we shared lunches. We snickered. Watching tourists 'not eat' at the Diner always struck us as funny. (The locals knew better than to go during meal times.) The blond one must have heard us, because his head snapped around, and he looked right at us. AW and I immediately put on our poker faces and waited as he strode over angrily to confront us. The rest of the group watched him walk across the parking lot. The short ones were the first to follow him, leaning on each other for support, moaning something about not having eaten since elevenses. The old man seemed inclined to wait under the Diner's awning, and the dark one chased after the blond, catching up before he had crossed half the lot.

"What do you think you are doing?" the dark one thundered, waving his hands in the air, "Striiiiiding over here. You think anyone can striiiide? It takes years to perfect. You are making a mockery of striding."

"Look," replied the blond, not pausing, and using the tone my aunt uses with the mental patients, "just because you got us lost in Western Québec, where none of us could communicate with anyone, does not give you the right to take your bad mood out on me. I am not the navigator. You wouldn't even allow a map in the van, Mr. 'I'm a Ranger... I need no map.' So, if you don't mind, I will acquire directions from those... folk over there."

We watched them approach as we fought a losing battle to maintain our poker faces. We couldn't help ourselves; the whole scene was just too absurd for words. The two tall tourists stopped in front of the table. The dark one was fuming, and the blond was ignoring him beautifully.

"Pardon me for interrupting," the blond started, even though he wasn't interrupting anything, and he knew it, "Where are we? And would you be so kind as to explain why this eating establishment is closed at the noon hour?"

At this point, AW was slurping his shake industriously, desperate to hide the smirk on his face. Since he couldn't be polite and civilized, I was left the job of explaining the idiocy of the Diner.

"Well, Sirs," I said as respectfully as I could manage, "you are in Sticksville, just outside the Canadian capital of Ottawa. And as for the Diner, it is a very unorthodox situation: the owner, Al, likes to enjoy his meals in uninterrupted peace... so, he closes his doors while he eats, and opens when he has finished. Knowing how slowly he moves, it should be open within the hour... and no later than 2 o'clock." I beamed at them., pleased with myself for having finished this speech without being hampered by a nasty case of the giggles. And AW, still working on his drink, wasn't helping to alleviate the hilarity.

They stood there motionless, staring at us, as they worked to digest that information. As we waited for a reaction, four short ones finally made their way to the table. Suddenly, the dark one sprang to life and leaned over the table, coming up nose to nose with AW. AW looked up from the frantic slurping, paused, and in trying to internalise the laugh that bubbled up, he succeeded only in snorting blueberry energy shake out his nose.

He jumped off the table, grabbed a serviette and ran off towards my car, chortling and exclaiming, "Ow! It burns, it burns!"

Deprived of his focus, the dark one turned to me. "Two o'clock?" he bellowed, "That's nearly two hours from now."

Upon hearing this, the four newly arrived participants gasped and collapsed on the ground, whining, "Two hours?" "I'm not going to make it that long," and, "I wasn't this hungry on the way to Mordor!"

The blond one looked down on the heap of short people and shook his head. "You just ate an hour ago." He said, exasperated, "How can you still be hungry?"

One of them looked up, "But, Legolas, it was Chinese buffet. Everyone knows you get hungry half an hour after eating it. That was two half an hours ago."

Finding this entire exchange extremely amusing, I struggled to keep a straight face as the dark one continued to rant, "What kind of restaurant closes when people are hungry? How do you expect to make any money? What are we supposed to do? Why is that guy," he pointed to AW, "still running around yelling, 'it burns'? What is wrong with him? Why are you just sitting there?"

The blond, apparently named Legolas, placed a hand on his shoulder and said calmly, "Aragorn, leave the poor girl alone. Getting angry never solved anything. And besides," he added logically, "she works for a different establishment. Look at her shirt."

Aragorn, so addressed, blinked and stopped shouting long enough for me to see what he looked like with his mouth closed.

Taking advantage of the sudden silence, I launched into my sales pitch schpiel, "Yes, thank you. Welcome to 'Rent-It-All,' where you can rent it all, but only one at a time. We have," and I proceeded to rattle off the contents of the shed and parking lot behind me, "a lawnmower, vacuum cleaner, iron, weed whacker, roto-rooter, VW beetle, roto-tiller, crock pot, lawn chair, speed boat, toaster, porta-potty, our John Deer ride-on mower is out right now, R. V...." I was starting to loose my audience, "...hub cap, portable air conditioner, crash test dummy, tanning be-"

"Oh no!" gasped one of the short people at my feet, "We forgot Boromir in the van!" With that, he grabbed a random hand from the pile and yanked the corresponding body out, and dragged him over to the now silent, still smoking, van. They clamoured inside and climbed over the seats to the back.

While we were waiting for them to reemerge, one of the remaining short ones asked, "Pardon me, Lady, but why was everything you mentioned in the singular form, if you don't mind my asking."

"Oh, that's easy," I replied cheerfully, "because we only have one of each of every item. That's why you can only rent one thing at a time."

He merely nodded reflectively as he gazed at the impedimenta available for rent.

His companion pulled at his sleeve, "Look, Master Frodo. She also sells lemonade," he said, indicating a handpainted sign taped to the table. Pausing thoughtfully, he then asked worriedly, "Do you think she has more than one glass?"

"I don't know, Sam," Frodo replied, turning back to me, "Will we all be able to have a glass? Or will we need to share?"

I giggled. "The lemonade stand is my own venture. I have enough cups for all of you," I replied, "Would you like pre-made for 50 cents, or would you like to do-it-yourself, for 25 cents?"

Aragorn had listened to this conversation wordlessly, glancing from one speaker to the other with his mouth wide open. The 'do-it-yourself lemonade stand' seemed to force him to share another opinion-filled outburst. "This is the worst rental agency I have ever seen! And believe me, I've seen plenty," he roared, "A Diner that closes for meals, and a rental place with one of everything? What is wrong with this town?!?"

"Look around you," AW said calmly approaching from behind, causing Aragorn to jump, "does this village look big enough to need two trampolines?" He walked between Legolas and Aragorn, and reclaimed his space on the table, still breathing gingerly and hiccuping occasionally.

This illogical logic stopped Aragorn in his tracks. While he was still working on a come-back, the two other short people practically fell from the van, completely dwarfed by the hulking figure draped over their shoulders. They stumbled under the weight of their burden, and someone managed to tramp on the fingers of the figure now threatening the underside of the van. The owner of the fingers let out a howl and scrambled out from under the vehicle. He advanced on the culprits wielding his axe, and they started to shuffle backwards to avoid being maimed.

"We're sorry, Gimli!" one of them cried, his voice muffled, "He's is a mite heavier than he looks, and with 'im starting to stiffen, it's getting hard to manoeuver."

'Gimli' merely growled in response, but he did hang his weapon from his belt and changed course to join the group already clustered around my table.

"The van has gone to the Halls of Mandos," he stated grimly upon arriving, "and only Iluvatar can bring it back to us."

The rest of his companions groaned and all started talking at once. I, however, was more interested in what was happening behind the group. I pushed my chair back from the table, stood, and walked closer to the struggling trio so I could hear what they were saying.

"Ouch! Pip," said the one on the left, "that's my foot you're standing on."

"I'll move my fout, if yew take yer elbow out of my stomach, Meriadoc," retorted Pip, sarcastically.

The heap teetered precariously.

"Watch it. 'E's slippin'. If we're not careful, we'll drop 'im ...again," Pip sounded worried.

"Pippin! We can't drop him again,"Meriadoc exclaimed, horrified, "Remember how mad Aragorn was last time! Just listen, you can hear his 'angry nose whistle' from here. I don't want to face that. Do you?"

"I still dinna understand why 'e gets so upset, Merry" Pippin said, shifting the body, "Eet's not like 'e feels it, or anythin'."

"Well, I still feel sorry for him," Merry continued, "After all, we couldn't even get the arrows out of him. Poor fellow."

"Okay, let's get this right..." Pippin instructed, "left, righ- No no, my left!"

They slowly inched towards the rest... like a pony in a strong headwind...

*record scratching sound* *picture freezes*

AW: *voice over* "Like a what?"

Drew: *voice over* "Like a pony in a headwind? A trout moving upstream? Like Yogi bear trying to get a pic-a-nik basket?"

AW: *voice over* "Stop with the metaphors, Boo Boo. Just say they were having difficulties moving."

Drew:*voice over* "Fine. Moving on..."

*picture starts moving, slowly at first, accelerating to normal speed*

As the little ones struggled with their burden, I wandered back to my table. I had to walk in a wide semi-circle around Aragorn who was having kittens about the rent-all, the van, the lemonade, the Diner, our village, and his life in general. Legolas was leaning on the table, talking calmly to Gimli about their lack of transportation, and Sam and Frodo were still considering their lemonade dilemma: pre-made, or 'do-it-yourself.' AW was still sitting on the table, enjoying the entire scene before him. No one seemed to mind the kittens.

Sitting down on my side of the table, I turned to AW.

"Um, maybe you could try to convince Al to open early, just this once?" I suggested quietly.

"Are you kidding?" he protested, gesturing to the activity in front of us, "This is the best lunch ever! Free dinner theatre!"

"Look," I said, pointing, "That one over there is whistling through his nose. I don't think that's too healthy. Would you please see if you can find some food? A banana, a can of tuna, an expired jar of olives... anything to calm him down."

AW sighed heavily, and slid off the table. "All right," he said, extracting his keys from his pocket, "but tell me what I miss."

"Ok," I said as I started to take notes. Suddenly, inspiration struck. "Oh wait, better yet..." I jumped up and rummaged through the 'electronics' section of the rent-all, producing the video camera and the tape, "I'll tape it for you." I proceeded to set the camera (wide lens) up on the tripod and hit record.

"Super!" he exclaimed and took off running.

Merry and Pippin were making progress. They had managed to coordinate their feet and were slowly approaching the table when Pippin looked .

"Hey, look!" he shouted, overjoyed, "They've got lemonade!"

And with that joyous proclamation, he dropped his half and sprinted the remainder of the way to the rest of us. Merry, suddenly in sole possession of a rather large cadaver, collapsed under the weight.

"Pippin," he wheezed, "I can't breathe. Help!"

Gimli rolled his eyes, and lifted carcass off of him, allowing him to roll to freedom. Merry winced as air refilled his deflated lungs, and he and Gimli dragged the body the last few meters.

Aragorn stopped fuming out loud when AW reached the Diner. He watched as AW pushed his key in the hole and opened the door. The door slammed shut and Aragorn turned back to me.

"Does that mean his lunch break is over?" he asked hopefully.

"Hardly," I snorted, "he's only been on lunch for forty-five minutes so far. He's got at least another two hours to go."

The nose whistle jumped an entire octave. "Then why did he go back?" he demanded.

"Well, sir," I answered, edging away slowly, "my brother has gone to see if he could arrange for you and your companions to eat at the Diner sooner, rather than later."

This statement seem to calm him down. He thought for a moment, confusion written all over his face, then asked, "Did you say he's your brother?"

I nodded.

"But, but..." he stuttered, "he's... blue. I mean his skin," he added hastily, "Is there something wrong with him... or you, for that matter?"

"Mister Strider, sir," Sam interjected, hurriedly, "I don't think that's none of our business, if you'll take my meaning."

Aragorn looked startled, and then seemed to remember his manners. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Lady," he murmured, "I hope you will not have taken offense."

I laughed and turned off the camera. "No, I'm not offended. Actually, I'll tell you why he's blue, but you have to swear not to let him know I told you."

At the promise of a secret, all conversations stopped. They all nodded solemnly and leaned in closer.

"You see," I started, "it's a bit of a medical mystery. He started drinking blue energy shakes about five years ago, and the dye in the drinks has managed to tint his skin. He tried not drinking the shakes to see if the colour would fade, but it didn't help... neither did constant bathing."

I looked at the stunned faces around me as they in turn looked in horror at the drink he had been slurping only moments ago. Pippin looked up from the lemonade he was sipping.

"Excuse me," he said worriedly, "will your lemonade turn me yellow?"

"No," I smiled, "that's all natural. I have no idea what's in those shakes of his."

The clanging of a door made us all turn to look as AW exited the Diner.

"Oh," I said quickly, "Please don't mention this to him. He's quite sensitive about it." I hit 'record' on the camera again.

They only had time to nod their assent before AW himself returned, burdened by a paper bag.

"Sorry, I couldn't convince Al to open early," he started, "he had just started eating his salad." The group groaned. "But," he said, "I did manage to swipe some food for you," he beamed as he started unpacking his bag. "Oh, and by the way," he added, "is that old guy over there all right? His snoring sounds like an underwater hurricane in a funnel. Al was quite concerned. He said the noise was ruining his digestion."

"Yes, he's fine," Legolas answered, "he just has a very bad cold. Let him sleep, please. He finds it difficult cramped in the back with all the paraphernalia we seem to need to carry with us."

AW shrugged, "Ok, if you say so." He then proceeded to name what he had laid out on the table, "We have a loaf of bread, peanut butter and strawberry jam, maple syrup, a bag of apples, a can of sardines... oh, and Drew," he grinned, holding up a jar, "I got the expired olives you asked for."

Before I could say that I had been kidding, Pippin snatched up the bottle, pried off the lid and sat down abruptly.

"I'm sae hungry," he moaned, as he plunged his hand into the jar, "I'll eat enything." He pulled out a handful of olives and crammed them in his mouth.

Since I have a strong gag reflex, and don't like olives at the best of times, I had to turn away. To keep my mind off the bad olives, I started making peanut butter and jam sandwiches for everyone.

"And..." AW said proudly, "I brought back enough energy shakes for everyone!"

Everyone stopped moving and looked at AW, horrified. Trying to be subtle, they inched back, suddenly taking interest in the mundane landscape around us. I casually poured lemonade and passed it around.

"Not interested?" AW said cheerily, "Right then, more for me!"

Pippin looked up at me from where he sat on the ground devouring olives, "Make sure ye do it right."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, startled, "Do it right?"

He nodded, speech slightly impaired by a mouthful of green goo, "Right to the sides."

I was now completely bewildered, "What on earth are you talking about?" I reached for the one cell phone, and handed it to AW motioning for him to call the paramedics. I thought that, perhaps, the olives were affecting his mind.

"Um, Miss?" said a voice near my right elbow, "he means the spreads. He wants the spreads to go right to the sides of the bread..." Merry looked down at Pippin to confirm. Pippin muffled something incoherent, and made a sweeping motion with the jar. "Oh, right, and they should be distributed evenly," Merry continued to interpret, "by way of a deliberate side-to-side motion.... If you please!" he added hastily, his manners obviously an afterthought.

I stared at the two of them, completely nonplussed, and was unsure how to proceed. I had never met someone who could on one hand, eat a jar of expired olives, and on the other hand, give extremely specific instructions on the fabrication of a simple sandwich!

I guess he noticed my confusion because Legolas leaned over and whispered reassuringly, "Don't worry about them. Once you hand them the sandwich, it'll be devoured instantaneously. They'll never notice the insides." Nodding slowly, I turned back to my sandwich assembly line.

AW started passing out apples so our guests didn't die of hunger waiting for lunch. "Um, guys," he said, looking around as if unsure who to address, "shouldn't someone wake up the ..uh... old guy?"

"No," Legolas answered, "I think we should let him sleep."

"Let him sleep?!?" yelled the nose whistler - I mean Aragorn, "Do you want a hungry, and therefore cranky, wizard breathing down our necks?"

"Cranky, but lovable," said a soft voice.

Aragorn swung around to locate the source of the contradiction, "What?"

AW looked up, surprised, "Al?... oh, nevermind."

"To be fair," Frodo continued, "Gandalf is cranky, but lovable: cranky before lunch, lovable after lunch."

"Gah!" Aragorn cried, casting his eyes heavenward, "from aggravating Hobbits to ridiculous diners, Valar preserve me!

Hoping to forestall another verbal rampage, AW and I got out THE picnic table, THE picnic blanket and THE lounge chair. Noticing the food preparation had ceased, and the set-up had begun, Gimli claimed possession of the chaise-lounge. The ... Hobbits? ... descended on the blanket, and turned in my direction with amazingly compelling puppy-dog eyes. Aragorn looked placated for the moment, and gestured for Legolas to go wake Gandalf, then sat down gingerly on the edge of the table bench. Legolas sighed, and jogged gracefully over to the Diner entrance and bent over the noisily sleeping figure. From my vantage point, I saw him reach out to touch the older man on the shoulder when Gandalf sat bolt upright, wide awake.

"Aber Guenevere, ich bin doch kitzlig!" he blurted in what I vaguely recognized as German, "Verflickt und zugenäeht!" (2)

Poor Legolas was obviously startled by this sudden and complete return to consciousness. He lost his balance and started to topple backwards. To this day, I can't say how he did it, but he turned a possible asphalt-burnt-behind into a perfect back-walkover. Righting himself, he leaned down and gave Gandalf a hand up. Unfortunately, Legolas' aura of effortless recovery was effectively ruined. Gandalf simply tapped him gently on the head with his staff, and Legolas tripped over his own feet as he turned to rejoin us.

Spotting me, Gandalf altered his course and stopped right in front of me. He gently took my right hand in his, kneeled and bowed his head slightly. "Enchanté, Madmoiselle," he said, in surprisingly good French, "Je voudrais demander votre pardon... mes amis ne sont pas toujours si... rustique." (3)

I laughed. "Oh," I said as he released my hand, "please, don't mention it."

Everyone watched this exchange open-mouthed. The hobbits giggled and nudged one another.

"She's blushing," cried Pippin.

Merry elbowed Pippin in the ribs and winked. "Watch this," he said in an undertone, "it will knock her socks off." He sauntered over to me with a cocky grin on his face. Shoving his hands in his vest pockets, he said, loudly and clearly, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?" (4)

Gandalf choked. I was stunned. Without thinking, I slapped him. Hard. He fell backwards. Hard. The asphalt kissed his bottom... hard. To a grown man, the slap would have merely turned his face and stung, but Merry was considerably smaller than a grown man... and the effect was a little more noticeable.

"Well," Pippin muttered, "at least someone's socks were knocked off."

AW, who had remained silent, piped up, "And you're lucky you didn't get your teeth knocked out too!" He loomed over the fallen lad and said almost pleasantly, but with a thread of steal just bellow the surface, "If you ever say something like that to my sister again I'll..." he grinned evilly and snatched up the lacrosse stick, "use my imagination."

Pippin glanced from the stick to AW's face, paled and nodded vigorously.

As AW stalked off, I heard Sam whisper to Merry, "What did you say?"

"I don't know," Merry wailed softly, "I heard it on the radio the whole time we were in Quebec... I thought it would make me sound smart!" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gandalf guiltily pull a cassette tape out of his pocket, drop it on the ground and crunch it under the heel of his boot. I don't think anyone else noticed, they were too busy laughing at Merry.

Sam snorted. "My old Gaffer used to say, 'It's better to keep your mouth shut and have the world think you're a fool, than to open your mouth and prove them right.'

Aragorn jumped up and looked from Gandalf to me and back again, stunned. "You-... Y..." he sputtered, "You speak french? You said you didn't... that whole time we were lost in the French province... you could have helped??"

I'm not entirely sure, but I think Gandalf smirked beneath his beard and replied calmly, "You never asked. You simply assumed I didn't speak French." Then he grinned, "Besides, you should have seen the lot of you, struggling with the phrase book, 'La plume de ma tante est sur la table, où est la toilette?'" (5) With that, he dissolved into giggles and sat down suddenly on the edge of the table.

Aragorn stood helplessly, his eyes bulged and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Finally, he gave up and sat down next to the hobbits. I silently passed him two sandwiches which he took without comment. The conversations died down as everyone devoured their one star lunch lunches. After several moments of quiet munching, Sam looked at Aragorn and said timidly, "Pardon me, Mr. Strider, sir," he quailed as Aragorn turned and glared at him, but continued gamely, "but the van is ticking... Is that a good thing?"

Aragorn took a deep breath, apparently to find his equilibrium, and replied somewhat rationally, "Yes, Sam, it is a good thing. The mechanic in New York said that engines tick as they cool down. Perhaps all the van needs is some time to cool dow-"

He may have finished his sentence, but no one ever heard what he said. Not that anyone cared much or even noticed. Accounts vary as to exactly what happened next. I guess it depends where we were standing, what we saw. I wasn't looking in the right direction at the time, so by the time I looked at the van, it reminded me of Moses and the burning bush... except there was no bush, and Aragorn's wail did not remotely sound like the voice of God. The van was completely engulfed in flames, and a green mushroom cloud ascended over 50 feet above it.

Everyone stood or sat perfectly still, eyes wide and mouths slack. Time stood still.

It's funny. You never look for the defining moments in life, yet they still find you. Little did I know this was one of them... and boy! It was a doozy!
 
 

~*~*~*~*~

(1) BSB - Boromir's sick bag. Special thanks to Maryn Falkner for letting us borrow one.

(2) Aber Guenevere, ich bin doch kitzlig! = But Guenevere, I'm ticklish!

Verflickt und zugenäeht! = literally: All torn apart and sewn back again; not so literally: what the heck do these twits want NOW?

(3) Enchanté, Madmoiselle = Enchanted, my dear

Je voudrais demander votre pardon... mes amis ne sont pas toujours si... rustique. = I would like to ask for your pardon... my friends are not always this... uncouth.

(4) Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir? = Would you like to sleep with me tonight?

(5) La plume de ma tante est sur la table, où est la toilette? = My aunt's pen is on the table, where is the bathroom?

~*~*~*~*~