Illustration by Ëlodie...well, sort of. Not really.
Séb and I are now in New York and compared to the tropical weather that has been breezing through Paris, it's really cold here. We're acting like L.A folk who come to New York and complain about the arctic 60 degree weather.
On our RER ride out to Charles de Gaulle, it hit me that this would be the first time that Séb and I were flying together and that my traveling quirks would be exposed. Because I seem to always be at the airport, I've become set in my ways and have a specific way of handling this antiquated airport. I have also gotten to know the airport personnel by face and some by name, who whether they realize it or not, have been a part of my life in France.
Séb quietly followed me through my routine, where I get to the airport several hours early to have breakfast and two noisettes at the airport brasserie before boarding a flight, because I don't eat airplane food. He met my favorite airline security agent, Monsieur Martin who had asked me about my new beau the last time I was there, so I was pleased to present him in person. Monsieur approved. He got stamped by my the immigrations officer who after almost three years of passing in and out of this airport, I finally got to crack a smile back in January. With this accent of mine, how could he not? He can't turn back now and gives me a half smile every time I cross the French border. He's totally making fun of me. We were issued our boarding passes by the gate agent who is always so pleasant and was looking just fabulous. Over the past year or so, she has lost about 15 pounds, coiffed her hair and is just luminous. I couldn't resist, I had to let her know that she looked great. Hey, everyone loves a compliment...especially at work and especially when you know it's true.
Because of the full flight, we weren't able to fly premium class or even next to each other, but we didn't care as we were grateful to get on this packed flight and not have to linger around the airport waiting for the next flight out. I was sat in an aisle seat next to the galley and he was several rows back, sitting next to a French teenager wearing a crisp New York Yankees baseball cap. After take-off, the woman next to me (who totally reminded me of the American Tourist who starred in the short of the 14th arrondissement in Paris Je t'aime) and I briefly chatted about Paris. I was curious about her trip but she was more curious about my life there where I had mentioned that I wrote a blog about my life, love and madness in Paris but quickly changed the subject to hear more about her trip. I can imagine that someone talking about their blog can be pretty boring and generally shy away from over-shares about our beloved blogosphere. Just as I was feeling the vodka from my Bloody Mary run through me like warm molasses, and was about to lean my head back in an attempt to sleep, one of the flight attendants who must have overheard us talking from the galley, came out from behind the curtain and asked me if I was the girl who writes about getting dumped in Paris.
Uh-oh, who wants to know?
Flattered, shocked, and blushing a deep shade of cheap Rosé, I confirmed that it was in fact me that publishes my crazy ramblings on the internet and apologized in advance if I had written something that offended her. She told me that she was a fan as well as the other flight attendants on board, who later came by to meet me. While this was definitely not the point of the blog and I know that I'm not supposed to say this, but it was pretty cool.
After my brush with "fame", I leaned over my seat and like the screeching yenta that I am, and obnoxiously relayed the whole story to Séb, who I ripped out of his Bose Noise-Cancelling bliss, not to mention the other passengers who I'm sure wanting me to just shut the fuck up. As for Séb, he's going to need something stronger than a Bose headset to cancel me out. After checking to see that seat belt sign was not illuminated, he walked over to my seat to listen to my excitement of having readers on the plane. Upon telling him this, he lit up and was delighted by my little burst of exhilaration. I love how it took me almost 15 years of dating to realize that boyfriends are in fact supposed to be supportive and well, nice. What a concept. I've always been with men who would say something to the effect of "the blog is cute and all for you and your friends but what are you really going to do with your life?" which would then deflate my confidence and I'd go back to searching Craigslist for an administrative position in an office - any office.
We arrived at JFK, and met up with my mom who was coming off of a day-two Curacas trip, which meant she was going to be in a feisty mood, because this isn't a favored destination among the international flight crew. We found her waiting outside customs and before saying hello, she looked at my chest. "What are you wearing?" she snapped. I just knew that she was going to notice this. I wore this stupid padded bra that I bought at Victoria's Secret several years ago where the "cup specialist" insisted that I was one cup size larger than I thought I was my entire life. As I had suspected, she was dead wrong and now I have a bra that I can literally fit a New York bagel inside each cup. "Oh, yeah, this," I confirmed, "I couldn't find my t-shirt bra this morning, so I grabbed this stupid thing that I paid 48 bucks for," I looked down, and my boobs look huge in this thing. "Well it's false advertising!" she said while pulling at my shirt. "Mom, I have a boyfriend, I don't need to advertise anymore," I said while looking at Séb who was trying to feign that he wasn't understanding this ridiculous conversation. "Until you get married, we're always advertising," she said over Séb's shoulder to me and she was hugging him, "Rememba that." Okay, I will...
If I felt fabulous, famous and important hours earlier, two seconds with my family brought me back to earth. That's what families are for....especially Italian ones. It's going to be a fun week. I can just feel it.
