Le Tarty

Today the Boyfriend and I are leaving Le Petit Village and heading north to the Auvergne Region to visit… dun dun dun… the Mother.

Our road trip this afternoon should be just under five hours. I was doing a little reconnaissance yesterday, checking out our route and what we may pass on our way, sights we may see. Ok. I was only looking to see if we would pass a Starbucks. And guess what? We don’t. 463 kilometers, 288 miles and still not close enough to a Starbucks. It’s a cruel world.
You know what else is cruel? Meeting the Boyfriend’s Mother for the first time. It makes me a little edgy, hence the reason I have been up since 5am and on my third cup of coffee. I’m feeling a little nervous and I battle nervousness with preparation…
The hair needs to be blow dried, nails need to be manicured, bags packed with appropriate clothing… in other words, I need to look presentable. Nice, conservative, but not like I have a stick up my you know where. It’s a thin line. And you only get one first impression. It doesn’t matter if she adores me after the umpteenth meeting, if she thinks I look like a tart at the first meeting, I will always be the tarty American girl who stole her son, except the French equivalent, Le Tarty (I don’t think that’s right but we’re just going to go with it). After all, the Mother is meeting the non-French speaking American woman who is living in sin with her one and only baby boy. Not to mention that the non-French speaking American woman is also five years older than baby boy.
No, I’m not nervous at all.
Did I mention I’m meeting Grand-mere as well?
The Boyfriend will be surrounded by all the women that dote on him. I’m sure he’ll be in heaven. I just hope I am too.

One response to “Le Tarty”

  1. can't wait to hear how it goes!


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