The flight to Paris went well. How could it not? I had built up such a sting of worse case scenarios, lost luggage, thrown out backs, missing kitties, that it was almost anti-climatic. The paperwork we sweated about for Ponette, as well as the chip we had inserted in the back of her neck, was never even requested. The only memorable flight issues regarded flying out of our little corner of the Midwest. One dentally challenged security guard told us to make sure “them French don’t eat yer cat.” He was also the guy in charge of the ‘puffer.’ The puffer blows air on you and detects bomb-making ingredients. It should be mentioned that the puffer is a machine and not a person. The guard in charge of ‘puffer’ looked at Ponette and explained that he kills cats when they come on to his property to “crap.” Why he felt the need to give us this little glimpse of his off hours world is beyond me, but it has apparently not hurt his career, as he is in-charge of the ‘puffer’ machine. It must be his home version of Homeland Security Game. He did, without any segue, explain that Mexicans are hard workers….so there you have it.
Our landlady is Madam Denise, she doesn’t speak English, we don’t speak French, although Kelly did an admiral job on zero sleep, and yet we managed to spend several hours together walking through the neighborhood and learning the ins and outs of the French apartment. It was time well spent as smoke began spewing from the new JBL iPod speakers I bought after I plugged it in… and now none of the outlets work. Madam Denise kept referring to her good friend that lives in the apartment below us Madam Chemel, who is apparently either very, very sick or a Doctor, either way we are to meet her, her daughter, or her doctor in the coming weeks. It should be fun, hopefully he/ she/ they will bring fuses.