by Glynis Astie
After the umpteenth paw in the face, I felt Louis’ grip under my arm. He pulled me up to a standing position with a furious expression on his face. Once I assured him I was fine, he started yelling at his mother in French. I sincerely doubted she heard a word he was saying since she was running around chasing the dogs with a broom. She was also yelling, but her focus appeared to be the dogs.
It was at that moment I noticed Louis’ father holding onto the car for dear life as he laughed his ass off. If I weren’t the one knocked on my ass by SEVEN dogs (I counted! There were five miniature poodles, one mutt and the aforementioned German Shepard), I probably would have laughed too. The one thought which made me smile in the midst of the fur-laden chaos was this: even though they didn’t speak the same language, Michel and my dad were going to get along really well. They both thoroughly enjoyed watching people in horrendously comical situations. The more embarrassment, the better.
Once I had been freed from the gigantic dog pile, we entered the house and I was reminded of my urgent need to pee. Since Louis had gone back outside to grab the bags, I asked his mother in halting French where the bathroom was. She was about to show me when the dog posse started acting up again. What the hell? Was I exuding some kind of pheromone which drove French dogs insane? Eau du crazy American woman? She gestured down the hall and ran after the dogs with the broom. I walked down the hall and started trying doors. The first led to a storage room piled to the ceiling with food and water. A fallout shelter? The thought of Louis’ mom as a doomsday cult member surprised me. I would have to ask about that later.
I tried the next door and found a bedroom decorated entirely in pink. It would have been an absolute dream for me to inhabit this room at the age of seven. Well, Louis’ mother does have a desire to stay young... Please, let it be the next door. Ah hah! I found it. I entered the room and closed the door. I saw a sink, a bathtub and a toilet (also all pink), but something just didn’t seem right. The toilet was much too small. It was also too low to the ground. Not to mention the complete lack of water. Hmmm.....I knew I was missing something, but my poor sleep deprived brain couldn’t figure out what it was. I only knew peeing in the teeny pink toilet was not a good idea. I decided to find Louis instead.
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway to find him coming towards me. I can only imagine the look I must have given him. It had to be a mix of pain, frustration and incredulity. He took in my expression and started to laugh. Then his father came down the hall, assessed the situation and joined in the laughter.
I glared at Louis with annoyance. My bladder was about to explode. “What’s so funny?”
He leaned on his father for support as tears fell down his face. “You are looking for the toilet, right?”
I cocked my head to the side. “Yes, I am. Why is this so funny?”
Louis took my hand and led me back down the hallway. His whole body was shaking with mirth. What kind of faux pas had I committed now?
Louis cleared his throat. He led me to a door further down the hall from the bathroom I had just been in. I stared at him with confusion and opened the door. Inside was a toilet. A lovely pink toilet and nothing else.
I glanced back at Louis. “Is this why you were smiling? Does the toilet need privacy from the bathtub and the sink?”
Louis laughed even harder. “This is called a water closet. In most parts of Europe, the toilet is separated from the rest of the bathroom. It allows for...more efficient usage.”
After stifling an eye roll, I leaned in close to him and whispered, “This would’ve been a good thing to tip me off about BEFORE we got here.”
And with that comment, Louis dissolved into another fit of uncontrollable giggles. He clapped his father on the back and led him away so I could take care of business.
I sighed as I entered the water closet and closed the door. This country was going to take some getting used to.
Chapter Twenty
After a quick dinner with his parents, Louis and I settled in for the night. I was grateful to have him all to myself. I snuggled into him and fell asleep in a matter of minutes. When I woke in the morning, it was still dark outside. I felt around for my cell phone to check the time and was shocked to find it was already eight in the morning. (I love technology! The clock had set itself to the local time.) Why the heck was it so dark if it was eight in the morning? As I was pondering this question, I felt stirring beside me. Louis turned on a small bedside lamp and the room was filled with a soft glow.
“Good morning, mon coeur. How did you sleep?” He reached out and pulled me towards him.
I found my favorite spot on his chest. “I feel so much better. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was.”
He laughed. “Not surprising for my family. They really tire you out.”
I swatted his chest. “That’s not what I meant! I went over twenty-four hours without substantial sleep.” His family certainly added to my fatigue, but I wasn’t going to admit it. Trying to understand thirty French people speaking at top speed would have been tiring for anyone - especially with reduced brain functioning from lack of sleep.
Louis ran his hands through my hair gently. “You handled it really well, Syd. I know it was a lot for you.”
I turned my head towards him. “I’d do anything for you, Bluey.”
He stroked my cheek tenderly. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
“I think I have a very good idea of how much it means, Monsieur Durand. Although, I have another very good idea…” I reached up and pulled him on top of me. It had been far too long since I had given my husband a proper kiss.
Just as things were starting to heat up, the door burst open. Startled, we both looked up to find Louis’ mother bustling around the room. She was speaking rapidly in French and didn’t appear to notice she had interrupted a very intimate moment.
Louis sighed. “And here we go...” He kissed me on the nose, turned away from me and began to yell at his mother.
As you know, my French is not so great and when people yell over each other, their words become completely intertwined. It was damn near impossible to catch an inkling of what was going on. (Let’s not forget the thick southern accents.) I simply sat in the bed, nestled safely under the covers until it was over.
In the process of the heated discussion, Simone ripped open the curtains, opened the window and pushed out a wooden shutter which had been covering the window. The room was suddenly flooded with sunlight, which was not flattering for any of the parties in the room, but it did solve the mystery of darkness.
Ten minutes later, Louis raised his voice even louder and pointed vigorously at the door. His mother sniffled, stepped through the door and closed it with a loud slam.
I threw my hands in the air. “What the fuck happened?”
He let out a deep breath. “My mother has no boundaries.”
My eyes moved cautiously between Louis and the closed door. “OK...but is it necessary for you two to yell at each other?”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Unfortunately, my mother doesn’t understand anything you say nicely. I am sorry you had to see such a display on your first morning here.”
I tried to wrap my mind around yelling as a regular form of communication with your mother. There had been a lot of yelling between them over the phone, but I thought this was due to the stress of the wedding planning. It appeared this may not be the case.
I rubbed my temples and returned my gaze to him. I was still confused. “What happened? Why did she come into the room without knocking?”
He seemed surprised by my question. “Did you not hear what I just said about boundaries? Or the lack of them?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I heard that part, but didn’t she have a reason to come in?”
“She is eager to get started on the discussion of this week’s activities.”
What now? Please don’t tell me there’s some last minute event where I have to balance on tight rope. I have
to draw the line somewhere!
I sighed. “Discussion? Isn’t everything already planned? Like down to the last detail?”
He chuckled. “Yes, you are correct. Everything is already planned, including several contingency plans. My mother wants to go over the schedule with us. AGAIN.”
I massaged my temples again. I honestly have no idea what I was trying to accomplish by this action. I don’t think it’s possible to rub the tension out of your head, but it wasn’t going to stop me from trying.
I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves. “Well, if it makes her happy.” I paused. “Can we talk to her again about knocking? We could have been in the middle of something a little more...serious.”
Louis began to get dressed. “It wouldn’t do any good. She ‘forgets’ things too easily.” He made air quotes with his hands. “I will lock the door from now on.”
I felt a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. Boundaries were very important to me. When I had my episodes of anxiety, I needed a little space in order to get myself under control again. His mother’s tactics were in direct opposition to my needs. This was really not a good start to the visit. I felt like I was under a mountain of pressure already. How the hell was I going to make it through this with her invading every aspect of our lives?
My heart rate began to escalate. I had to do something quickly to calm myself down. There was no way I could tell Louis about my concerns. This trip was far too important to him. I would merely have to grin and bear…well, everything. Going forward, we would only travel to see his family once a year. The rest of the time would be spent in my country, with my language and my comforts. I needed to get a grip. I was an incredibly lucky woman and I would do well to remember that. Even though there was a good chance his mother would be the death of me. An extremely good chance. OK, so it was really a done deal.
I took another deep breath and got out of bed. I followed Louis’ example and got dressed, assuming his parents were waiting for us to have breakfast. I had taken a quick bath last night (his parents were old school and didn’t have a shower), but I still felt the travel grime on my skin. Further bathing would have to wait until later.
As I was putting on my shoes, Louis told me he was going to check in with his parents. I nodded and grabbed my watch off of the nightstand. I put it on quickly, opened the door and was immediately met with his mother’s smiling face. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Simone!” I smiled like a complete lunatic.
She grinned back at me, handed me a wicker basket with a cloth in it and promptly ushered me outside. Never mind my urgent need to use the bathroom or the stubborn rumbling in my stomach. I exhaled slowly and counted to ten. Relax, Sydney. Once I had a modicum of control, a very important question occurred to me. Where could we possibly be going at eight-thirty in the morning? With wicker baskets no less? (No, that’s not considered to be a second question. It’s simply an essential extension of the first.)
As the myriad of possible scenarios raced through my mind, I noticed she was leading me around the back of the house. I also noticed she was dressed in sweats, old shoes and had a kerchief on her head. This was not the way his mother normally dressed. Something was off.
I let out a sigh of relief as I caught sight of an enormous vegetable garden. There were endless rows of lettuce, tomato plants, pumpkins, grapes and eggplant. It was amazing! Well, it was to me. I couldn’t grow anything. All my houseplants died shortly after I brought them home. To my great disappointment, I hadn’t inherited my mother’s gift for gardening. I grinned, knowing Simone and my mom were going to have some serious bonding material. It was easy to see them spending hours out here together, soaking up the sunshine.
Suddenly, Simone pulled me away from the beautiful garden and into a side building. What were they growing in here? A flash of feathers accompanied by rapid clucking and flying poop answered that question fairly quickly. One of the chickens had jumped up in my face and pooped down the front of my shirt. Apparently they don’t like strangers. Simone laughed so hard, I worried for her safety. She kept saying, “chicken shit” in French. Sadly, the profane words are the ones I understand the best and we all know I’ll NEVER forget the word for chicken. EVER.
I grinned at her and followed her back to the house. I knew this story would be told over and over at every event we attended this week. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if this incident made it into Louis’ father’s wedding toast.
We entered the living room of his parents’ house to find Louis and his father drinking coffee and watching the morning news. His mother immediately pointed to me and launched into the story. Louis and his father laughed until they had tears streaming down their faces. As I stood there watching them, I reminded myself what an amazing wife I was. Not every woman would put up with this kind of shit. Pun absolutely intended.
Eventually, Louis came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Syd, I am so sorry.” He paused to catch his breath. “Are you alright?”
I smiled indulgently at him. “Bluey, I desperately have to pee, I’m ravenously hungry, I need coffee and I’m covered in chicken shit. What do you think?”
Unfortunately for me, this only made him laugh harder. Well, at least I would have a good story for my dad. This kind of thing is right up his alley. He’s always telling me how funny I am. And it’s usually during moments like these. Moments of humiliation. Louis and my dad are alike in the most annoying ways.
I shook my head and quickly found the water closet. Following this necessary errand, I went to our bedroom in search of clean clothes. I gathered a new outfit and my toiletries from my suitcase and set off for the bathroom. After a long bath, I felt infinitely better. I put on my favorite jeans, a soft blue t-shirt and a pair of work boots. (My sneakers were currently covered in chicken shit.) Thankfully, Louis had warned me the farm was not a place to wear nice shoes, so I made sure to bring two pairs of shoes which were “outdoor friendly.” Meaning they could take a beating.
The heels I brought were for formal events only. Parties at his parent’s home would be held on the terrace, which would prevent my shoes from being ruined, with the exception of the wedding reception. It would be impossible to avoid dirt completely at the reception, but as far as I was concerned, a woman had an obligation to wear beautiful shoes with her wedding dress. (Yes, even if it was the third…wait, I mean the second wedding. I know, I know! I have to keep up.) No matter what I did, my wedding shoes were going to be trashed.
Feeling somewhat human, I joined breakfast already in progress. I gave the requisite three kisses to each of Louis’ parents, kissed Louis on the lips and sat down to eat. I was delighted to find someone had made a trip to the local bakery. There were a dozen pastries along with a few baguettes, jambon (cured meat) and a huge slab of butter. Yum. Simone handed me a cup of coffee and pointed out the cream and sugar. This day just got a lot better.
Louis and his parents engaged in pleasant conversation while I ate everything in sight. It was AWESOME. The coffee took a little getting used to, but once I doused it with cream and sugar, it tasted fine. Louis shook his head at me in disgust. He had always told me how weak American coffee was and wanted to share his love of REAL coffee with me. In all fairness, I did try it his way, but it nearly set my head on fire, so I decided to embrace being an American and throw some fat and calories at it. Works every time! (Besides, the French add butter to EVERYTHING. There was no need for Louis to be so superior about the coffee.)
After I had indulged as much as I possibly could, I sat back and sighed with satisfaction. Louis looked at me and grinned.
“You are pretty content, aren’t you, mon coeur?”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “I am, Bluey. I’ve found the key to happiness in France. Who knew?”
He kissed the top of my head. “Are you ready to hear the agenda for the week?”
I giggled. “Why do you have to harsh my mellow so soon?”
He rol
led his eyes at me. “You are such a dork.”
I raised my head and beamed at him. “I know! And you still married me. Sucks for you!”
He picked up a piece of paper which had been written on every which way. There was not a bit of blank space anywhere on the paper. Crap.
Louis looked at me. “Here we go. Our first three days are free; we only have dinners to attend in the evenings. Starting Monday, you will be attending two events during the day with my mother and then my dad and I will join you both for dinner outings in the evening. Your family will arrive on Thursday, so you only have an event in the morning, which thankfully I will be participating in as well. All the formal wedding events begin on Friday, ending with the wedding on Sunday.” He paused to draw breath. “I will translate the schedule for you so you can refer back to it. I will put the times you are supposed to be there on the schedule, but my mother is always late, so don’t expect to leave on time, OK?”
I held his gaze, trying to keep my face in a calm mask. “OK.” I couldn’t believe how many iterations this precious wedding activity schedule had gone through over the past few months. What had started out as two days of formal grilling and/or hazing (henceforth to be known as “grazing”) of one Madame Sydney Durand by the French clan and two days of pre-wedding activity with my family had morphed into three days of informal grazing, four days of formal grazing and the very same two days with my family.
“Keep in mind, when I said our first three days are free, it means we don’t have to go anywhere. I have no doubt several family members will be stopping by to visit. The bonus is they always bring food.” He tapped me on the nose. “You will get to try all of my favorites.
