On one of my soujourns to Paris I sat at a cafe with my favorite book. “We would like some preservatives please,” I overheard the ladies seated next to me asking the waiter. The waiter looked more horrified with each request as their voices grew increasingly louder every time they asked for their ‘preservatives’. After giggling to myself for a moment, I told the waiter in French what they really wanted and explained that preservatives in English means jam. He was relieved as he rushed off to fill their order. I then turned to the women and conveyed that they were asking the waiter for a condom. 

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