The Boyfriend and I are venturing out of Le Petit Village and headed stateside to visit my father in the Berkshires and some friends in New York.
This is The Boyfriend’s first trip to the States and I’m so excited to show him around, catch up with friends and family and spend a week surrounded by American accented English that I’m dangerously close to piddling.
Some other reasons I’m so happy I’m doing the bunny hop…
Shopping… Barnes & Nobles, Target, J Crew, Old Navy… here I come! I’m a product of American consumerism and I’m planning on dumping a bunch of euros into the American economy. Your welcome Barack.
Eating… deli sandwiches for both breakfast; fried egg, ham and cheese on a hard roll, and for lunch; pastrami on rye, Italian sub, and meatball heros. Excuse me while I have my Homer Simpson moment… so delicious… And Dunkin Donuts (mmm… donuts) for munchkins and coffee, and of course Starbucks, Starbucks, and more Starbucks.
But unfortunately, every ying has it’s yang, and I’m a little sad too…
I’ll miss Fifty. He’s spending the week with Boyfriend’s Brother and his puppy cousins; Python, Karma, Leah, Mika, and the other new puppy (can’t remember her name yet) and I’m sure he’ll be happy but I’m worried he’s not going to get the cuddles he’s used too (Boyfriend’s Brother is not a cuddler).
We’re missing the last two weekends of Six Nations rugby. When I realized this, I thought about cancelling the trip. Seriously. France is going to win the Grand Slam and I want to see it.
Travelling with The Boyfriend. I’m trying to be positive but I can’t see this going well. Patience is not one of his virtues and the longest flight he ever took before was three hours to Turkey. This is a two hour flight from Nice to Amsterdam, a five hour layover, and an eight hour flight to Boston, followed by a two hour car ride to my Dad’s. And I can just hear all his Gallic huffing and puffing now. Travelling doesn’t bother me (except on Ryan Air), airports are my playground. I’m the person you want to be in line behind at security checkpoint (true story: a security guard once pointed at me and shouted to everyone, ‘now this is how it’s done’. I’ve got mad security checkpoint skills).
And of course, I’ll miss you, my loyal Le Petit Village posse. But it’s just for a week, and then I’ll be back fatter and over caffeineted with plenty of stories to share.
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