French Boy and I have had a number of interesting adventures/dramas/scenarios in our relationship thus far, and many of these adventured/dramas/scenarios often have something to do with Paris. I think we will not be short of paris-themed stories to share with the grandkids, for instance.
One scenario comes to mind regularly, and still manages to crack me up. I thought it about time I share it with you.
It was when we went to Paris last year to photograph all the ateliers and interview the artisans for the book. French Boy had fabulously offered to be my assistant for the whole trip, and we were really looking forward to it even though I was secretly anxious about it, being my first book and all. After getting the numerous and very heavy backpacks on our backs, we finally made it out the door and trudged along to the tram stop. We looked at each other with relief to be on our way for this exciting adventure together, and we smiled at each other.
The next few moments went something like this:
Pia: Gees, I hope we didn’t forget anything.
FB, with twinkle in his eye and a smile that could melt an iceberg: We’re fine! We are off to Parrree!! As long as we have food and shelter we are set.
Pia: Well not really, if we don’t have the camera we are f#$%ed.
FB, smile turned to upsidedown-French-frown: You have it, right?
Pia: what are you talking about, YOU have it, don’t you?
Tram arrives. People getting on.
FB, twinkle gone, face white, enter latin drama , stage one: What? What!? What are you TALKING about?
Pia: I left it on the bed next to the bag for you to pack!
FB: I thought the camera was YOUR duty! It’s YOUR camera. I thought YOU were in charge of it?
Pia: What are you TALKING about?
FB: oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god.
I have already internally thanked my lucky stars that we had this incredibly serendipitous conversation before we’d left the vicinity of the city, and with plenty of time to get the next tram to get to the train to Paris. But before I can externalize my internal dialogue, French Boy’s bag flies off his back and he bolts across the road, running like a mad man back to le petit bateau. I can’t help but laugh at his dramatic and panic stricken exit (latin drama , stage two) and I try to yell out after him “PLEASE, don’t panic!”.
When he arrived back to the tram stop with camera in hand, the twinkle was back in his eyes, his smile was wide and we both broke out in hysteric laughter. Because seriously, if we had have forgotten the camera on that particular trip, we would have been f#$%ed.
Left: some gorgeous new page spreads from the latest issue of inside out, 
