Bonjour, Fatty

So, on Sunday we boarded United Airlines and flew to Paris. This was my birthday present this year-- one fabulous week of Europe (we fly to Zurich for a day tomorrow) and time with my husband.

We had had to hire a private detective to find my husband's old Army buddy, one of his best friends. He had been Best Man at our wedding, they'd been that close. We had lost contact over 17 years ago, and really wanted to know what had become of him.

With much nervousness, I prepared to meet with this guy who had not seen us in so long. Watched what I ate for weeks. Outfit carefully chosen and changed into right before landing (I never do that) makeup done, hair combed. I was actually happy with myself. The airport bathroom mirror told me I looked pretty good.

"Wow! You haven't changed a bit!" I told him as we hugged, because he did look far better than what I imagined, given his draconic smoking habit.

Um... he didn't say a thing.

In the car, on the way to our hotel, we talked about kids (he has a 4-year-old daughter) and family and birthdays.

"You have so many celebrations in winter," he said.

"Yes, Thanksgiving, then Stefan's birthday, then Boom's birthday, then my husband's, then Chrismas and New Year's... I have to make one cake after another," I joked.

"It shows, Rose, it shows," he said, somewhat disparagingly.

Total deflation.

Ugh.

That is what happens with close friends-- they will be brutally honest.

But...

I'm having a wonderful time.

The weather is perfect.

I have my husband, and my time, all to myself.

And if I'm going to leave my babies behind, who sound so wistful and say they "want me back" whenever I call, then I'm gonna have a blast, dammit.

Pass that croissant.

PS-- they lost all our luggage. We finally got it delivered after 2 days.