Day 220: The Case of the Puffy Coat: Part Deux.

Illustration by Cécile Mancion
Lately, I have been entertaining myself with my blog's keyword stats where I discover how my it is found via search engines. It amuses me to see that Tales is on the other side of some crazy Google searches, even if they don't exactly match the stories that I have written on this blog. Some goodies have been: "dirty french panties (why do they have to be dirty?)", "by our second coffee we were naked and fucking (coffee? The second coffee for me has a different effect on me where I'd prefer to not be in the presence of a man. Remember that dilemma?)", "drunk girl in paris (nice)", "sleazy French men in parks (it happens)", "ella coquine (hi mom!)", "Katie (no, Katie, I haven't taken the stories of you robbing me off the blog)" and this afternoon I was surprised to see: "ella coquine monsieur flaneur dysfunctional relationship (well look at that)". It was staring back at me where Google and this reader recognized that we aren't a compatible couple. Why did it take me so long? If love is blind, what is stupidity and denial? Deaf, dumb, insane and destitute?
As predicted, retrieving my puffy coat is turning out to be more trouble than it's worth. Even if it did belong to my aunt who passed away too young from cancer, I am at peace with parting with it. The coat was a staple for icy winters in Brooklyn and wet winters here in Paris where I felt like she was keeping me warm with her hugs but I refuse to do the MF song and dance in order to get it back. She would understand.
After waiting weeks to hear back, I finally received an e-mail response from him saying that he has had the coat at the restaurant and wanted to know why I hadn't come by to pick it up. Respire. I never confirmed that I was coming by, my e-mails were simple and direct, requesting a status update of when he would have it at the restaurant and we would launch from there. I know that I probably shouldn't have but I couldn't resist writing back and saying just that.
Within minutes, I received another e-mail where I was accused of being unclear, that he was having trouble following me which was a jab at my French communication skills before saying that he doesn't spend all of his days checking e-mails (he has an iPhone), that the coat is now at his mother's house because I never came by and to stop making him out to be 'the asshole'. N'importe quoi!!
This is what makes people crazy. I call this LOL; lack of logic. I didn't respond to the second e-mail, I couldn't because we weren't going to get anywhere with his knucklehead reasoning. He wants me to call him and to come by and see him so he can try to charm me with his young Serge Gainsbourg good looks, interrogate me on my new life and make his little comments. Seriously, I have enough trinkets and memories of my aunt that I can part with the puffy coat - anything to be free of this drama.
  The problem is that he is slowly realizing that he has absolutely no power over me and imprisoning my possessions won't get the strong reaction that it may have six months ago. This my friends is called moving on, bad news for MF. It also doesn't help that Séb and I ran into a good friend of his in Oberkampf last week and it was clear as day that I have moved on and that MF is a fading memory to me. These days my sights are set on the future - with or without the puffy damn coat.