French Bred - Ch 2 (continued)

As we left the future mama-mia-in-law's house, I couldn't help but ponder over what a complete disaster I had incited. Josy assured me that everything was fine, but I wasn't buying that. All I could see was a somewhat over-imagined face of Yolanda baring her fangs at me and daring me to marry her daughter.

I'm going to throw in a spoiler at this time. Since the first meal, I have come to appreciate my mother-in-law very much. Yes, she has some issues that make her difficult to deal with at times. I can point to the hearing aid that she doesn't use often enough, her ever-shortening short-term memory, and her aggressive and stubborn Sicilian nature. Still, she is a lovely woman who cares very deeply about her children and loves Jehovah very much. We now have a very warm relationship, and sometimes when her kids are all gathered together having a typically Italian, hand-waving and gesturing discussion, she will look over at me and I will look at her, and she will have this smile on her face and a gleam in her eye that says, "Yes...those are my children!" Experiences like those I will treasure forever.

We arrived back at my brother-in-law's apartment, where soon Josy would be abandoning me for the night. I was exhausted, but I have never been good at staying in strange homes. I usually hit panic mode and all sanity goes out the window. Fortunately, I was exhausted enough to collapse on the small bed they had prepared for me, and fell asleep.

The next morning, I arose later than my in-laws-to-be. They were at the table having coffee and wished me a kind Bon jour. I wasn't feeling very bon. I was quickly beginning to understand the meaning of the words "jet lag". They offered me some cafe', which I gratefully accepted. They placed what appeared to be a cereal bowl in front of me. Did I get my translation wrong? Doesn't cafe' mean "coffee"? It couldn't mean cereal, could it? No, this was to be my coffee cup. Christine poured coffee into the bowl for me. I realized that she and Joseph were drinking out of similarly shaped cups. I wondered to myself, isn't their coffee espresso? Are they really drinking a full bowl of espresso to start the day? Are they not planning to sleep for another day or two? In reality, the bowl wasn't filled to the rim with coffee, but I was glad to have it nonetheless. In fact, with the shape of the coffee receptacle I was using, sticking my tired face directly into the coffee was a real possibility!

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This ends chapter 2, and my story for now. I'm going to go back to my regular ranting-type blog for the time being and await any kind of commentary or criticism on my writing. As I said before, these chapters are sort of an assessment for me. If people think I can do this professionally, I will have to sit down and give it my best shot. If not, then I won't waste my time.

Please feel free to comment on these chapters. Let me know what you liked and what you didn't. Also, let me know whether you would buy a book like this if you saw it at Borders. In future weeks, I may throw in a couple of anecdotes that I would include with the book. These may or may not include: trying to buy bagged ice in Paris, pavement grenades, and a variety of ways that I have misused the French language and come close to being killed for doing so.

Thanks for reading.