Remembering November in Paris

I came down with something so excruciatingly painful that could it could only be one of three things:

1. Blocked intestines

2. Kidney stones

3. God hates me

Before I got sick we did make it to Strasbourg and back, mostly intact, except that Rich’s eardrum burst on the fast train ride back. That’s the kind of trip it’s been when a bursted eardrum gets a mere mention. We had a passer-by snap a photo of the seven of us in Strasbourg—we were only all together two days during the whole trip and this is the only group photo. All other days were riddled with illness or injury.

I hope The Sisters had fun. They stayed cold the whole time. I guess because I had a fever much of the time I didn’t notice our apartment was a meat locker until The Husband brought Judy her morning coffee and found her beneath her covers fully dressed with her heavy coat on. Judy. The only one still standing by the end of the trip.

That man of mine made our coffee, bought our groceries, cheese, bread and wine, did the dishes and then, because I was out of commission, toured The Sisters about town for the last two days of their trip. Marsha was coming down with a cold so he led them to a Ricola store—an actual store with a button you can punch that plays R I C O L A! I got them a Chopin candlelight concert at a 300 year old church and it’s all hail The Husband for finding the Ricola store. Suffice to say I never got to deal him another Shame card.

On our way out of the apartment to catch a cab ride to the airport, Fernando came out to tell us goodbye, “Until next time, maybe,” he said, “you never know”.

As sick as I felt that made me smile. If I had to do it all again, I would, my friend Fernando (just to beat that Abba pun to death).

À toute.