I have sad news. Sad for me, anyway; I don't think anyone else will lose any sleep over it. Madame Kickmyass came to our lesson this week wearing her sad face and told me she couldn't teach me anymore. She's teaching two new classes at the university and her work schedule has imploded, resulting in her looking more frazzled and less flawless in recent months.
But I have proof that she likes me; she really, really likes me. She dropped all five of her other private students over the past six months but held onto me. She held onto me as long as she could. Then she said the words a girl longs to hear from her intimidating French instructor, "I adore you, MJ. I've had a lot of fun working with you. I wish we didn't have to stop but I'm completely overwhelmed." Awww, sweet.
Wait a second....did she just give me the, "It's not you, it's me" speech? Oh dangit that means it was totally me.
Madame Kickmyass asked two of her friends, also French professors, to write me letters in English (so cute) and offer to be my new teacher. I am weighing my options but am not sure if I'm ready to move on just yet. I know I made Mme. KMA out to be a real bruiser, but she was damn funny and we laughed together almost as often as she browbeat me for sucking at French and being stupid at life.
I wish I could string scenes together in a slow-motion montage set to music of the time I had with her. Instead, you can read some of my favorite memories of a very memorable Parisienne here and here and here and here. I can't bring myself to type the stories again so go read quietly if you want but don't tell me you're doing it. It hurts, posse.
I'm gonna go travel for a little bit to deal with my pain, find myself again. I hear eating and praying and loving works for that -- sounds kinda silly to me but I'll give it a go. Al and I are spending a week in Portugal, visiting remote hilltop villages in a rental car just like we always dreamed. Our kids will stay here with my in-laws which is even SUPER MORE what we dreamed. We will eat late-night dinners just because we can, pray we don't get run off the road driving up narrow roads to hillside villages, and love traveling without our children.
No offense, baby. We'll probably talk about you the whole time.
My in-laws, who deserve many, many in-law awards, are coming all the way from Quebec to stay with the kids and deal with the rapidly escalating Damien rivalry. Damien bit Lucien at school yesterday. Or, both Lucien and the teacher claim it's a bite mark, but I don't get it; it only works as a "bite" if Damien only has two teeth in his trouble making little mouth. I'm going to pry his mouth open today and try to figure out what the heck's going on in there. It's probably best I'm getting out of town soon thereafter.
It's hard to get really excited for a vacation when you know you're going to die before you reap the rewards of all your diligent planning. It's true -- I'm scared of flying, posse, and despite all my years of research on the subject still can't quite figure out how those things stay up in the air. Wish me luck on the magical iron bird.
Portugal fixes everything if the plane doesn't kill you,
You thought I was done but I'm not done. This part did not fit in well with the whole depressing theme of my blog post -- getting dumped and dying in a fiery plane crash -- but guess what, everybody? I MET DEBBIE. Debbie is a great supporter of my little blog and quite possibly the head honcho of the comment posse. Even when I post something terrible and nobody gives a rip (often), Debbie comments just to say "Hi, MJ! That was terrible!" (not really -- she's too kind to ever say that).
Debbie is bubbly and fun. I only caught her saying "eh?" once but it was enough to prove she's Canadian.
And this is me looking high with Karin from An Alien Parisienne. These are very scarf-filled pictures, which is appropriate considering where we are. It's also important to note that Karin was rockin' the Converse All-Stars. Also appropriate.
So, off again to either die or have the best vacation ever,
MJ x 2