Nature Called

Please note: the following happening is not a common occurrence. I don't think.

One of the things I love about where we live is that I can walk to the butcher, the bakery, the market (you thought I was going to say candle stick maker didn't you?) and a few other shops. As I think has been the case in most of France; this week has been amazing weather. It's just gorgeous here in Lille. I know those of you in the south of France or in Paris can not possibly believe this but it's been 26 (~77) and sunny for a full week now here in the Nord-pas-de-Calais. I think I'm even getting a little tan from my daily outings!

I don't just want to sit inside and look at the weather, I want to be in it, so everyday I get out and go someplace. I took a day off from hotel shopping for the wedding and decided to walk to the market and the flower shop to pick up a few items. As usual, the fruit and vegetables were beautiful when I got there. The tomatoes here are so red they make your eyes squint and your taste buds tighten up when you see them in the sun. So I made my healthy purchases and headed home. I was walking in the sun smiling to myself as I day dreamed of how I am going to need to find a seamstress in Lille because I am going to be so damn skinny by the time my wedding gets here in October that my dress won't fit.

I pass some girls chatting, some boys on their bikes trying to look as if they don't notice the girls, then I cross the street and begin the walk down my block while mentally jamming with Jimmy Buffet on my iPod. Being the cautious soul I am I look both ways and begin to cross into the second block of my street. I look ahead and there is a businessman in navy blue pants and a plaid shirt standing about 20 yards ahead of me facing the shrubbery holding his brief case in his left hand. I'm not sure why I notice the briefcase. "What is he doing? Where is his right ha -- oh my."

By the time I put together the scene; back to me, front to bush, one hand visible, leaves of shrub near his knees quivering and reflecting the sun off their newly slick surface, I am across the street two car lengths from him. I start a bit as if trying to avoid poop on the sidewalk, but alas it's pee on the bush and a view of this man's nether regions I'm trying to avoid. My eyes dart from side to side looking where to go, but I'm already somehow across the street and there is a car parked on my left blocking me in the sidewalk. What would he do if he notices me? Say hello? Drip on my new groceries? Think Susan...what to do?

Whatever, it's France. I put an extra spring in my step, put my nose in the air and just walk by swinging my fruit and veggies less than 5 feet from him. I did however try to pretend like I was looking across the street at something very interesting and I might have upped my pace a bit. But once I passed by it was it if never happened. Even now I'm not sure if I imagined it. I couldn't turn around, I might turn to salt like that woman leaving Las Vegas - I mean Sodam and Gomora.

Damn...somehow I forgot the flower shop.