Double Entendre

I have had an hour to recover from the French Grammar exam.
The childishness has been well and truly knocked out of me.
Thanks largely to the subsequent tutorial.
Trust me, 50 minutes of in-depth analysis of 16th Century Poésie Française is guaranteed to eradicate even the most severe case of the giggles. 
[yawn]
On to my third hour of French.
I say 'hour' but each lecture/tutorial/seminar is limited to 50 minutes in order to allow students enough time to get from one class to the next.
So there really is no excuse for being late.
Though there are always several stragglers to indicate to the contrary.

My next class is a French Language seminar.
In it we cover aural and written comprehension.
The written comprehension consists of a passage - normally a cultural article from a magazine or newspaper - followed by 15 multiple choice questions and some verb conjugation exercises.
This will form the basis of our end of term test.
The multiple choice questions can be quite ambiguous so it is important to pay very close attention to the subtleties of the text in order to circumvent the chicanery of the snakes who design the exam paper.

Today we are examining an article about African immigration in France.
Given its former colonial days, there are many African countries where French is the first language, so in theory, the assimilation is fairly unproblematic.
However, the article is enlightening us as to the reality of the situation and why many Africans are choosing to study or work elsewhere.
We read through the passage, selecting vocabulary that is either significant to the semantics of a particular sentence, or is as yet unknown to us.

Michel, our tutor, is young and, for want of a better word, dainty.
He has only just graduated himself, so must be about 22 years old.
He is not terribly tall, with a rather slim build.
And has the poise of a trained dancer.
His feet are constantly in one of the 5 ballet positions.
And he plucks his eyebrows.
(It's the kind of detail only a woman would discern).
He is totally adorable, (in a non-sexual way).
And a pussycat when it comes to discipline.

In general, his English is impeccable, but there is always the odd word that will stump even the most accomplished linguist.
The French verb 's'inserer' features in the passage we are reading and most of the students are unfamiliar with its meaning.
I observe his struggle to find the appropriate English word to explain it to the class.
I would volunteer to help, but I'm enjoying his discomfort too much.
Besides, he hasn't asked me.
I sense my earlier volcanic activity is not as dormant as I suspected and is bubbling just below the surface.
The most accurate, though non-literal, translation of the verb in this context is 'to integrate'.
But Michel plumps for the literal:
'It means to insert onself into something'.
I watch his face blush delicately as he realises the euphemistic implications of his words.

Vesuvius erupts.

©Alacoque Doyle