Merry Christmas!

I hope to start a trend of beginning posts with something other than an apology for inactivity starting…next post. For now…I apologize for my inactivity. In the past about three weeks I have completed an obscene amount of work that will interest few of you. The quote of the semester survey is very close and voting will be open until…I feel like posting the results. For now, though…

The In-Laws Visit Part Three: Is that Doogie Howser?!

This is the third of several Blog Posts which will document the recent visit of Abbey’s parents: Due to the traumatizing and irritating nature of many of the events that transpired during their visit their names have been changed to protect the innocent. Abbey’s name was not changed as she knew good and well what she was getting herself into when she said “Yes” when I asked for her delicate hand in marriage (her “yes” was immediately followed by “this is weird!!”). Abbey’s parents came to visit, and this is their story. Additionally, it has now been roughly 7-8 weeks since this visit and my memory tends toward hyperbole. I make no apologies for events embellished for comedic effect and promise that there is almost a semblance of truth in most of the things that I will say.

To recap: Abbey wasn’t feeling well, Centieme, Garcon, Abbey and I spent one day on the RER and one day in the cold, gray, rain at an abandoned winery, followed by mild inebriation, sightseeing in Epernay, and a jaunt through Mickey’s overpriced wonderland before retiring to the villa for wine, soup, and pizza. We then slept.

Abbey spent all night practicing her cough and had nearly perfected it. Unfortunately, all of this practice had left her fatigued with a very sore throat. She could barely talk. While our intentions were to go back to Paris that Sunday, Abbey’s seemingly mild illness was taking a turn for the worse and we decided to call a doctor. Garcon and I walked up to a local market while Centieme stayed at the villa with a coughing, sniffling, miserable Abbey.

Rather than attempt to recount the market on my own, here is Garcon’s take on it, written much better than I can remember at this point:

“We experienced a very busy open air market with hundreds of Parisians buying everything in sight. At the market we found vans selling foods and families with their vegetables, jams, honey, and breads. We bought a Poulet Rotissierre with Pommes de Terre, and some aged Brie (really strong). We had a late lunch of Roasted Chicken with pit roasted potatoes, and poached eggs with bacon on a grilled baquettes topped with Sauce de Legume (a creamy vegetable soup laced with chicken drippings). The Domaine Naudet Sancere (Chenin Blanc) was perfect. All of the cafes and markets close at 2 pm on Sunday, so dinner was wine and cheese again from the market; Federic Trichard Beaujolais Villages and Chateau Haut Bourdi Bordeaux.” – Garcon

What Garcon failed to mention was that it was damn cold. I volunteered to carry home the poulet rotissierre (because it was warm). We got back to the villa and there was an 11 year old person looking down Abbey’s throat and taking notes. He had a doctor’s coat and everything! I assumed he was playing dress-up until his mother or father, the doctor, showed up, until he wrote a prescription and left. That was the doctor? Maybe I’m just getting old. Anyway, the verdict was in: Abbey had la bronchite. I guess my remedy of “go to bed, it’ll be better in the morning” hadn’t quite worked and we should give wonderboy’s diagnosis the benefit of the doubt.

We spent the rest of the night relaxing, eating, drinking, being merry, and de-thawing. Abbey called in sick to work for Monday and we planned to leave Monday morning for Paris. Little did we know that the disgruntled French men and women in charge of the RER A’s operations had other plans in store for our Monday activities.

Thanks for reading.