My sadistic mom just called from Paris to say she and my step-dad had arrived safely after a flight spent fully reclined in first class seats sipping champagne and watching individual movie screens. Phew, I don't know how they survived. I should be--AM--so happy for them. They were supposed to take this Paris-Florence-Venice trip last year before the cancer hit. This year they are abroad and cancer-free. My mom hasn't been to Paris since before I was born, and my step-dad had never been outside the USA before yesterday. Accumulating miles to take a first class trip to Europe couldn't happen to two more deserving folk, and yet I still want to stick my head in the oven with jealousy. I know that right now they are hearing the busy on/off wailing of Parisian ambulances and sipping coffee that is stronger and more beautiful than anything I could imagine here. I, on the other hand, am dealing with a chest cold and the sounds of a Tigger and Pooh show this Sunday morning.
I do happen to know it's raining in Paris today. Ha! Take that you French punks! Here it's supposed to be 80 and sunny (yes I realize I'm kidding myself and that actually Paris is splendid in the rain. I need something).
Have fun you two! (Really!)
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