As it happened, I had a very romantic Thursday evening with Stephanie, Nathalie, Julia, and Nana. We snacked under the stars at Bistrot la Minette while watching an outdoor projection of Le Placard. Bret was our waiter and, as I think we were a welcome change from the perhaps potentially stuffy clientele, I’ll venture to say that he was quite charmed by us–a dessert or two might have been omitted from the bill.
Unfortunately, I came home to maybe my least favorite job in the world: packing. I am horrible, horrible at packing. And it drives John nuts. Well, let me rephrase: I am fantastic at packing for trips longer than two weeks (I once studied overseas with only a carry-on to last me a couple months); I am terrible at packing for weekends. I procrastinate; I engage in anything else, until I absolutely must pack, and then I pull the most pathetic all-nighter in the hopes that I might actually make my bus/train/airplane on time. One day, I’d love to learn how to be one of those adults who can function in society…pipe dreams, I guess.
BTW, John, you’d be pleased to know that I did not, in fact, just throw clothing into my suitcase this time. I do not exaggerate, at least two-thirds of packed items are actually folded, with creases no less.