A few years ago, I made a fake magazine called “Super Pâté” for Christmas. It was a lot of fun and I’ve been rereading it with great pleasure.
So here is something from it called “Gallicism” (a French idiom or expression used in another language).

Bruce loved reading, particularly romans-à-clé delivering a soupçon of frisson in his otherwise dull life. He had a penchant for espionage novels, full of femmes fatales and agents provocateurs set in dark culs-de-sac.
Bruce was a failed entrepreneur with not much savoir-faire. He lacked the je-ne-sais-quoi to catapult his bidet factory to excellence.
Once a year, unless a case of force majeure, Bruce went on a cruise, although after 15 years, he was starting to feel a bit blasé about it. He always chose the buffet, with extra servings of quiche, flan and pâté. To compensate for these excesses of fine cuisine, he made sure to have an extra rendez-vous with the masseuse on board.
Bruce was living in a ménage-à-trois, but lately the entente cordiale in his relationship was losing its raison d’être, due in part to his wife’s ménopause.
He had a small entourage of friends, most of them working in the haute couture department of Dior. Of course, they were all very chic, but Bruce didn’t have the cachet to match their wardrobe and his suits always had a look of déjà-vu.