I spent two hours (and nine Euro) this week trying to make a post that Blogger wouldn't even take to the first screen for processing. So I abandoned the project and planned to write a long update when I got home (worrying all week, of course, that people would see I'd stopped posting and lose interest and never come back to visit me here).
And when I get home I discover that Blogger DID, in fact, make the post. THREE TIMES. With a coding error (from, I'm assuming, the weird way that French keyboards make greater-than and less-than brackets) that ended up crossing out everything in ever post I've ever written. Mon dieu!
Anyway, I'm back. And I've fixed the posting error.
And I've had one of the best vacations I can ever remember! The four of us got along famously. I saw nearly everything I really, really wanted to see. I ate like a pig. I got three new pair of shoes and six new shirts and a big stainless-steel knife with FROMAGE carved into the blade. I made out with a VERY sexy Italian (who didn't smoke!). I got accosted on the street by a big, ugly French trannie hooker who somehow knew I was American -- but I pretended I spoke only Spanish, which totally stopped him/her in his/her tracks, and he/she moved on to try to get bidness from some other unsuspecting English-speaking tourist.
And I have a million more things to tell (and show!) you all, but I want to do laundry and answer messages and read my mail AND EAT A PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH AND DRINK A TALL, COLD GLASS OF SKIM MILK.
One word of warning, though: I have seen the future, and it includes Nehru collars and angled zippers and colorful Chuck Taylors and shoulder pads that extend out like wings. AND MULLETS. It's not pretty, and it's coming this way. Be very afraid.