Whine About Pooh

Some years ago I watched a film called "Pret a Porter" in which Robert Altman repeats the not so subtle motif of stepping in the poo of Paris throughout the film. I don't remember much about the movie but the stepping in poo part. Even googling the film and reading about its "cameo appearances and two minutes of nude female models walking the catwalk" doesn't ring a bell. But the dog doo does.
My son, who is just over two, knows the words for poo in both English and French and has already started identifying them in the street: quite often after nearly stepping in them. Thankfully his desire to show off his budding vocabulary stops him short, giving him enough time to point out the sometimes monstrously large droppings and time for me to whisk him up in my arms (which is getting increasingly more difficult as he's 13+kg) and keep his shoes clean.
As my sister once told me not long after I moved to France: "every place has it's dog shit"
The grass is always greener elsewhere....so we're house hunting.
House prices in the South of France are completely nuts. Just about everyone rich and famous wants a home on the Cote d'Azur which therefore drives the people who are actually trying to work and earn a living here into tiny apartments and houses not even fit for sheep to live in. See link: 185,000 euros for a one bedroom, one shower room house
So, yes I know, what does house hunting have to do with dog poo? or my two Frogs, for that matter?
Well, when we first told the shifty-eyed agent that my husband absolutely wanted a garage and I, 2 toilets, he looked at me and asked, "You must be American?"
So, similar to our need for two types of thermometers in our house...do I really need to explain? I stick out here in France in my "need" to have two toilets. One for family & one for guests...
I am so not French. My husband teases me that in a few years I could become French if I wanted to. Change nationalities. Ease the threat of double-taxation. Hmmm...Nope. "I'm American," I apparently don't even need to announce as I check underneath my shoes before walking into yet another agency to ask for a little place we can call our own. Something with two toilets.