“FRENCH” KISS

“FRENCH” KISS
I had never been out of the country before and had only been on an airplane twice (from Boise to Denver and back), so when my parents told me they were taking a trip to Europe with my little sister I snuck into one of their suitcases and got myself a free ride.
The first stop was Paris, France. Ah Paris, the city of love and romance. At least that is what all the books and movies tell you. You just can’t leave Paris without getting a little lovin’ from a frenchy Frenchman (as Matthew likes to call them). There were plenty to choose from but I wanted to make sure it was the right one. I wanted it to be perfect, an unforgettable. (Do you honestly believe that’s what I was thinking?)
Our journey began and I was keeping a good eye out for my Frenchman. I searched for him at Notre Dame’, but decided that the gargoyles just didn’t provide the right ambiance. The Eiffel Tower was really putting the vibes out but my parents caught them before I could (ewhh gross). The Arc de Triomphe was surrounded by little Asians, not a Frenchman to be seen. At least I couldn’t see one with all of the flashes from their cameras. I even went out in the country to Versailles hoping to find some royal frenchy, but the only ones I could find were dead or statues. So, it was back to the city. I checked the Louvre, the Colonne de Vendôme, Le Sacre Coeur, La Sainte Chepelle, Invalides, and the Pompidou but to no avail. I was on the prowl every time we walked through a park, got on the métro and in every café we stopped to eat in. We were nearing the end of our stay in the city of Love and I had not yet fulfilled my dream. I was pretty down in the dumps when our taxi came to pick us up and take us to the airport (for the 2^nd time). I stared out the window as we passed all the sights where I had hoped to find my “French” kiss, and a single tear slid down my cheek (was it from sadness or the strong smell of our taxi driver, who knows). Little did I know that my dream would yet come true.
The Charles de Gaulle International Airport was probably the filthiest place I had ever been and it was full of people who had not bathed in months and had probably never owned a toothbrush. (I may be exaggerating a little, but it still gives me the shivers just thinking about it. This is how 99% of all Europeans are so you shouldn’t have been so surprised.) We were stuck on the outskirts with all the bums for a couple of hours until we could go through the gate to board our flight. We had too much luggage to wander around so we tried to find ourselves a place to crash. As we walked past this one guy I was so surprised by him that I got nervous and smiled at him. He was a big black man with dirty dread locks and about ten 12oz. cans of beer at his feet. I was about 9 feet away from him and I could smell his cologne. It smelled a lot like urine and beer (Why do you think they call it eau de’ toilette?) We didn’t have any luck finding a seat in the direction we were headed so we turned around and went back the way we had come. There he was again, this time he was smiling at me with his ten teeth. I just kept my eyes forward and held my breath.
We finally found an empty table where we could sit for a bit and kill time. My dad and little sister went for a walk to get out of the smoke laden air and I tried to escape the filth around me with John Grisham. My mom was keeping an eye on all of our stuff because she was convinced that someone was going to try and steal it. She called me back to reality for a moment so that I could move our stuff behind us. She had spotted a suspicious character who seemed to be eyeing our belongings. When she pointed him out I had the feeling he wasn’t ogling the luggage as much as he was me. It was that stinky Frenchman again. After some dry heaves I delved back into my John Grisham to evade his stare.
My mom was mumbling something about my dad and sister when I noticed a pair of cowboy boots sauntering towards me. Oh, the deaf guy must be coming to pick up the trinket he left on our table for us to buy. (This is why some European nations claim to have near 100% employment). This story is gripping. Why is my dad breathing on my cheek? Did he just kiss me?

“Go AWAY you! GO AWAY,” yelled my mom.
Aaaaagh it’s the scary man! I just stared in horror as he licked his lips, touched my face and gave me his bedroom eyes.
My mom grabbed the old man at the next table. “Tell him to go away. He’s touching my daughter. I want him to go away!” But everyone just stared at us wondering what the two crazy American ladies were doing.
As soon as the strength came back into my body I managed to push him away and tell him to GO!
Confused and heart broken (probably very drunk) he left with his tail between his legs, confused as to why I had not fallen for his dashing good looks and charm.
We were still in shock and shaking with adrenalin when my dad and sister finally showed up. My mother recounted the story and made my Dad promise he would never leave us alone again. We took refuge in the corner of the cafeteria from all the weirdoes and the smoke as we continued to wait for our plane. After I finished my dinner I went to put away my tray and who do you think I saw when I turned the corner. Yep, you guessed it! My handsome Frenchman was passed out on a table. I dropped the tray and ran.
Finally, it was time for us to board our flight and finish the rest of our vacation in the enchanting hills of Ireland. As the plane took off I stared out the window and watched the city of love and romance vanish along with the hope of ever forgetting my “French” kiss. The movies and books are right when they say you’ll never forget your time in Paris. I never will!
Bethany 2004