C'EST LA VIE

I have wanted to go to France since I learned "Bonjour, ca va?" in seventh grade. It has been at the top of my "must see" list for a very long time. My friend DeLinda and I have talked about it for years. We leave on May 31.

For the past six months, my living room has been carpeted with travel books and maps and brochures and itineraries and videos. Scraps of paper with notes, post-it notes with notes, and note pads with notes are scattered all about. An overly-enthusiastic lady with a French accent enunciates in my car daily--une, deux, trois!

Last night, while I sat knee-deep in the tourist information center that is my living room, I was in tears. There I was, less than three months away from the trip of my dreams, completely unprepared!

"I was supposed to learn how to speak French by now," I sobbed to my friend Martha, who listened quite patiently on the other end of the phone.

"I need to learn the metric system."

"I was supposed to read all of these books and maps and brochures."

"I was supposed to have a better list of the things I want to see and how to get there and when they open."

"I should be more prepared than THIS!"

"What if I miss something I am SUPPOSED to see?"

I think it comes with the territory. Being this single, independent woman who runs her own business means I get to wear ALL of the hats, ALL of the time: receptionist, customer service rep, designer, dishwasher, maid, lawn mower, weed puller, schedule maker, cat groomer.

I guess I assumed I needed to add to the list for the big trip: tour guide, concierge, translator, Jacques Chirac.

The truth is, my head hurts.

I don't know a kilometer from a kilo, a franc from a euro, la toilette from les toilettes. I can't understand the street names well enough to figure out directions. I will not remember the entire history of France no matter how well summarized in the travel books. I will never figure out how to conjugate verbs I never learned in the six years I studied French. Gothic, Roman, Medieval? It's all Greek to me!

A giant garbage bag now sits at my front door. Inside? Travel books and maps and brochures and itineraries and videos. Scraps of paper with notes, post-it notes with notes, and note pads with notes. And a 12-CD set of "Learn to Speak French in Your Car."

In their place, a list that reads like this:

1. Stand at the top of the Eiffel Tower

2. Eat a croissant next to the Seine

3. Drink cafe au lait and smoke French cigarettes at a sidewalk cafe

4. Take a gazillion pictures

5. Use the one French vocabulary word I actually remember: pamplemousse (grapefruit)

6. Walk the streets of Paris at sunrise

7. Write "par avion" on my postcards

8. Stand in front of the Mona Lisa for no less than 20 minutes

9. Cry at Normandy Beach

10. Throw a snow ball in the Alps

11. Drink French wine, eat French bread, and ask "ou est la fromage?"

12. Go to a French flea market and buy one really cool old French thing

13. Kiss someone on the left cheek, the right cheek, the left cheek and the right cheek

14. Wear a beret

15. Roll a really good R

Au revoir!