Les Petits Trous

I prefer to write humor and sometimes it’s even funny but it’s hard to be funny when you feel stupid.

In French class years ago I had an assignment to present to my classmates something about scuba diving. I had practiced delivering a really good joke involving holes (un trou in French). I can’t remember the joke but the punch line was, “Un petit trou is fine unless you’re a scuba diver”. It fell incredibly flat. It was at least better than Ursula’s presentation about her neck which she called her ass for 10 minutes.

This summer I barely passed a doctor administered memory test. I told The Husband, he cried. I told my mom, she said she was sorry. I told my dear friend Jane and she…

Laughed.

She laughed so hard I took a picture of her laughing. God I love her. She made me feel normal again.

Our kids arrived on Saturday and The Husband told them they need to see “My Paris”. He’s let me (try) to guide them around but I have failed. Miserably.

My first day of my leading their orientation tour ended with Taylor leading us.

The next day there were petits trous in my plans all day long: the speakeasy (requires you to answer a trivia question before entering) didn’t open until the OBSCENE hour of 7pm, The jazz club didn’t start music until GOD HELP US ALL 9pm. Lumières was sold out and the grocery store was closed.

When I’m not getting us lost they’re buying coffee at any random tabac in order for me to use the restroom as we go from site to site. The Husband has been high on caffeine for three days. Nobody needs to see that.

There’s a famous singer from France, Serge Gainsbourg, who sings a song about Les Petits Trous. It does not have a happy ending. Here’s hoping I can turn it around.

Pictures from the places we hit that weren’t closed: