It's Me, Sara Louise

Why yes, yes it is.

And with that I bring you another part of my memoir…

First off I’m going to let you in on a secret, Papa’s Wife’s mother’s name is Louisette. I’m telling you this for two reasons, 1) typing Papa’s Wife’s mother is a pain in the petunia and 2) Louisette is a lovely name and ever so close to Louise which makes me feel like Louisette and I are kindred spirits of sorts (just go with me on this one please).

There were forty of us in the village salle de fête for Sunday lunch and it quickly became clear that we were the country cousins (we being; Brother-in-Law, Child Bride, The Husband, and me). The Parisians to our right had barely touched their bread basket (ours was empty), had barely sipped their wine (E M P T Y) and their paper tablecloth looked like no one was dining on it, while ours looked like a band of monkeys had been fed. We need an Emily Post intervention (or possibly, a few weeks in Paris).

{All About Louisette}

After lunch, there was a quiz all about Louisette. Two teams of three grandchildren were brought up on stage to answer questions about her in a game show format. It was awfully sweet because The Husband was chosen as one of the six, and since he is a ‘step-grandchild’ and there were actual grandchildren, grandchildren there, it gave me the warm and fuzzies, and I know it gave The Husband warm and fuzzies too (Louisette LOVES The Husband… I think he actually might be her favorite… shhh).

There were six teams of three playing tournament style. And even though Papa’s Wife’s brother, and her brother-in-law, let out a little huff and puff when they found out I was on their team, we won anyway because guess what… this Irish Texan New Yorker, can throw around the metal balls with the best of them. Ce n’est pas sorcier! (that means, it’s not rocket science).

And that mes amies concludes part 455 of my memoir.