I used to, you know, do some pretty cool stuff.
Believe it or not, once upon a time, I actually had the balls to ditch North America for a while and shack up in France. It ended up being the most incredible experience of my life, and some days, I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if I’d stayed.
I learned a hell of a lot about myself that year (mostly that I could never, ever be a teacher),
forgot picked up a new language, and saw nearly all of western Europe. Spending a year overseas was easily the best decision I’ve ever made, and one time I decided to make spaghetti and then bake it into a loaf of bread.
Alas, my carefree globetrotting days are behind me. So is
I’m not exploring the planet or learning a new language anymore. I’m not taking on a classroom full of French five-year-olds who I basically have to perform an elaborate mime to to get them to understand me.
My victories are a little different these days. Today’s accomplishments include going to bed early, not eating Nutella straight out of the jar with a spoon, keeping a little boy alive and working towards some semblance of a career.
But this morning — I added another one to that list.
Pants.In early 2006, I bought a pair of white Capri pants in a small town just north of Paris, and I still have them to this day. They were always a little too big until I quit breastfeeding and began treating my body like a 24 hour-a-day garbage disposal.
Lately, however, I’ve been working really hard to transform my marshmallow-esque figure back into something that somewhat resembles a human female. It’s been slow and it’s been hard, but this morning, it finally felt worth it.
My France Pants fit again.
Now where’s the cake?