Air India or Bust

Our last morning in Paris was spent snuggling in our freezing (and still water deluged) hotel room. Well, more like half snuggling, since any of the Frenchman's attempts to touch my stomach, back, or bottom sent shooting pains to my already very angry and long since personified bladder. So half snuggle it was.

We got to Charles de Gaulle in plenty of time to squeeze into the crowd of eight thousand million people whose flights were canceled (Air France went on strike those crazy Gauls) - and thus were diverted to my carrier of choice, Air India.

While waiting in a line that I'm pretty sure was really a circle, the Frenchman offered to forage for food.

What do I want? Umnn, whatever, you choose.

So my last meal in Paris before boarding a nine hour flight on Air India (whose meal offerings range from Indian standard, Indian vegetarian, Indian lactose free)?

A curry chicken sandwich.

Oh but I love that boy.


A long steamy embrace in front of security and I was off. On the plane, I squeezed in between a group of rowdy French teens going to New York for the first time.

And I was lucky enough to sit next to Hugo. Oh Hugo. He violated my elbow space, woke me up every time the stewardess walked by (just in case I needed something!), and in an especially moxy move - stole my bread roll off my tray.

His idiot friends liked to play this game where you throw your limbs against all the parts of the plane, like the seat in front of you.

So I couldn't pee, I couldn't sleep, and a 15 year old was stealing my rolls and/or hitting on me. I stood up, leaned over the back of my seat, and said in French, what amounted to this:

Can you?.....because it's really.....you know?....um hmnnn.

But apparently my bloodshot eyes and menacing body language did it, because after that they referred to me as "la mademoiselle" and kept it down. Little shitters.


When I finally made it to DC, I went straight from the airport to the hospital. There they informed that the French meds I'd been taking were absolute crap. Hmnn.

1 am - As my mama drove me home, I sat cross legged in the front seat eating a ridiculous amount of chocolate PIM cookies, thinking how I did not want to wake up in five hours to go to work, how much peeing hurts, and that I miss the Frenchman.

Le fin.