Ol' Pear-eee
My friend Sara is a flight attendant. She texted me this evening to say she was going to be in Paris tomorrow for a 21-hour layover. Could I meet her there and stay in the hotel provided by her airline?
Yes, yes I can. Paris is a short 2.5 hour train ride from London. Marty, my generous and thoughtful husband, has booked me a train ticket to Paris tomorrow morning. I will return Friday evening with plenty of time to meet him for dinner and regale him with tales of my travels.
Damn he treats me right.
7 comments:
I still love the concept of saying "I'm taking a train from England to France."
ooooooooooo, you lucky duck!
"ooooh, I'm Megan, going to Francey France to see my friend, look at me, look at me. . "
ok, yes, I'm jealous. Have fun kiddo!
Freedom of travel. Nice.
Megan:
Of course Marty treats you right! You're very hard to treat wrong. Plus, he always was rather gentlemanlike to...us. Anyway...say hello to Quasimodo for me and stay the hell away from those damn mimes. They creep me out.
What a coincidence, I thought about going to France Thursday myself.
But then I thought, why should I miss a Seinfeld rerun for a trip to Paris?
Because, Dad... Paris has incredible art. You like art, don't you? Plus, I hear the cafes there have coffee that's so strong your hat will shoot off your head in a manner that is reminicent of Lou Costello.
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