When angry, count four; when very angry, swear (Mark Twain)

Thursday was a day for which I actually set my alarm. Got up at nine, was ready to leave by ten, because that’s when my mom said we would be driving back into Paris. I should know by now that that means we leave at half past. But anyway, I took it upon myself to endure the crazy french driving (getting worse every day) and the stressful city, because we were going to a shop called Thanksgiving. It’s run by Americans and sells food from back there, which we needed to buy as a preparation for our Christmas dinner. Unfortunately, my mom also told me that if I wanted anything I should get it. Maybe she was just tired of hearing me say: oh look! They have this… and this! …. and this! Needless to say, we left there with two bags filled and a lot less cash on our hands.

After that, she thought we would go walk around in the nearby quarter of the Marais and find someplace to eat. I thought we would just be in and out, which is why I was so glad I found the right street right away and a parking slot right next door (also, it was drizzling). We finally made a compromise and decided to go to our “usual” Chinese, whichwould be on the way to our next stop (which I didn’t know we were going to either). It was very yummy, and the people there are very nice. It also gave me the opportunity to have a serious (albeit surprisingly pleasant) talk with my mom (about her moving and relationships) and I could bring back a wall calender for my little sister (which she was very excited about), but it still took out a bunch of time. Then we still had to go to a mall (which I thought was totally out of the way, but whatever) to pick up a picture my little sister had taken with Santa Clause (which she thinks is the real one – isn’t that cute?) and where I had to convince my mom that I wasn’t interested in going shopping (as usual). Especially since by then it was rather late, and all I could think about were all the pages I had wanted to read for my exam that day.

Stop four, at four o’clock, is always back home, since then it’s time to pick up the little one from her school. With the pleasant side effect of scaring the poised and superior look of the faces of the other moms, when they see me coming to pick her up with my fat, docile dog. Oh the horror! All the while he was surrounded by at least eight hands eager to scratch his ears, all tripping over themselves and stepping on his paws, but just sat there, panting from the walk. When we all got home, I was pretty pooped too, but also excited about finishing my family tree. I spent the rest of the evening typing the names and dates in and trying to find the towns on Google Earth. This also conveniently gave me an excuse to not have to interact with my moms guy, since he was over to visit (again…) and staying for dinner.

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