While eternally beautiful, France can certainly be a dangerous place sometimes. For instance, you will stroll the streets eyes looking up, down, and all around at the stunning architecture, the tree-lined streets, the monuments, the people - all the while making sure not to step on any crottes, so how on earth would you have time to notice these?
One could even be looking through one, at say a monument and not even notice it - don't you think? This very thing happened to a friend of mine recently, fresh off the Airbus from New York City; roaming the streets in utter glee busily taking in his surroundings at a mad pace and - SMACK - he walked straight into a France Telecom phone booth (quite a rarity nowadays since the advent of mobile telephones). He had actually been looking through it to see a beautiful monument just on the other side, with some sun in his eyes, and never saw what hit him. What hit him being a large, immobile phone booth completely transparent save the FT logo near the top.
In pain, feeling a welt emerging on his forehead, he managed to walk home to his host family's house. As he entered, his host father looked at him aghast as he saw the large, red welt taking over the upper half of his head. My friend, seeing the horror in the face in front of him - asked sensibly for some ice to soothe the pain. His host father responded to his request with an odd, quizzical look but turned and went away seemingly to oblige.
No less than five minutes later, the host father returned with this:
In French, the difference between ice (glacon) and an ice cream (glace) is simple and easily misspoken.
My friend had a good laugh and instead of licking his wound by putting some ice on it, he licked his vanilla ice cream cone. It did help, nonetheless.