Chipotle in Paris
I love Instagram, but will admit that I (like many others) often only share the highlights of my day (mostly good food that I do not cook).
Rarely do you see a picture of my not-so-great moments. But trust me – there are many.
So in keeping with my attempts to keep this blog honest, I thought it would be nice to share some of the not-so-great moments of our trip to Paris last week:
- Maya refused to speak in French which was a huge part of the reason we planned the trip.
- After threatening her with her life she finally came up with one sentence, and I believe it had something to do with requesting more guacamole.
- At Chipotle.
- Judge me as you wish – I deserve it for letting her eat Chipotle in Paris. But I just didn’t have any more fight left in me.
- Ali discovered Google Translate’s camera function and spent the trip obsessively holding his phone up against everything saying, “Can I translate that for you?”
- I wanted to throw his phone into the Seine.
- Until I needed Google Translate’s camera function to figure out if my prepackaged salad had cheese in it.
- Yes, I ate a prepackaged salad as I enviously watched Maya devour her tacos.
- Sometimes I wish I didn’t have such strong principles.
At the Baccarat museum. Which apparently only I enjoyed.
- It rained and was freezing cold for the duration of our trip. Until the morning we left, of course, at which point it was sunny and 85 degrees.
- Because of the rain we did a lot of indoor things including a visit to the beautiful Baccarat museum where Ali and Maya yawned incessantly.
- Maya said she wanted to see the Mona Lisa instead, at which point Ali declared the Mona Lisa “a waste of time.”
- Honestly, I don’t understand the appeal of the Mona Lisa either so I didn’t fight him (unusual for me). Feel free to judge me again.
I won’t bother to bullet point the status of my hair on the trip (frizzy thanks to the rain), another minor bout of food poisoning (must stop eating smoked salmon), or my constant nagging that Ali and Maya pick up their s@#$ so I stop tripping all over it.
In conclusion I have to admit that I love the escapism of Instagram as much as the next person. But sometimes it’s nice to put things into perspective. Yes?
4 potatoes
Since arriving in London two weeks ago, my scone consumption has spiked to record highs and I’ve been eating jam straight up with a spoon.
(If I’m being honest, I actually eat jam with a spoon outside of London too. I began this classy habit as an attempt to replace my chocolate habit and now I’m not sure which one is worse.)
Anyway, in an effort to regain control over the scones and jam, I decided to make a carb-free, sugar-free dinner a few nights ago.
Unfortunately I had no choice but to ask Ali to pick up some potatoes (an acceptable carb in my book) at Marks & Spencer, because Maya and I couldn’t get there before they closed (because we were eating scones, of course).
Me: Can you pick up baking potatoes on your way home? They come four in a bag.
Ali: Four what?
Me: Four potatoes.
Ali: In a box?
Me: No, in a BAG. A BAG.
Ali: Hmm. I’ll FaceTime you from Marks.
At this point I should have given up. But in lieu of quitting I decided to employ sarcasm instead.
Me: No, don’t FaceTime me. Or call me. Or text me. As a matter of fact, I won’t look at my phone for the next hour. You can navigate Marks & Spencer. I know you can! Come home with the potatoes. Or not. Either way I can’t talk about it for one more second.
Guess what happened?
- Ali brought home 4 potatoes.
- In a bag.
- I didn’t get a call asking me any questions.
- I didn’t get a text asking me any questions.
- He didn’t FaceTime me.
- I made homemade fries and scrambled eggs. And they were fabulous.
A happy ending for a change?
dirty laundry
Last week, while in Los Angeles, Ali received a Fedex from Florida containing his laundry.
Confused? Well so am I.
On our way to London, sporting Virgin Atlantic’s matching pajamas. And good hair for a change!
Here’s what I know:
- Supposedly another woman didn’t send these items.
- Apparently Ali forgot his dirty clothes while at one of his ubiquitous conferences, and the Hilton in Orlando so kindly forwarded them along. At their own expense.
- Not only did the Hilton forward his abandoned laundry, but they CLEANED everything first. At their own expense.
Walking around after eating A TON of Indian food at Masala Zone.
I also know that since Ali’s Fedex delivery, my husband has left additional dirty clothes in Los Angeles and a few pieces in New York (he was there about 24 hours).
We are now in London, where there are piles of identical khaki’s, all of questionable dry cleaning status, EVERYWHERE.
A trip to the countryside…it involved a taxi driver that nearly killed us all and an almost missed train back to London.
I have loads of questions, a few doubts, and lots of complaints (of course) but in order to minimize your boredom, I will just say this:
I have so much love for the Orlando Hilton. So much love.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 