I’d like to begin this post with a public apology because so busy / tired / distracted / stressed out / away with the fairies was I that I forgot to write Monday Madness on the Fuel My Blog blog this week. To the Fuel My Blog team I apologise…I’m usually so organised on a Monday morning (that’s a lie) and I’m almost always sitting at my computer screen (I wish that was a lie) but this week, something was amiss.
I believe my problematic state was due to the fact that I’d spent a whole weekend chez FP’s parents. Yes, now I come to think about it I’m quite sure that that is where it all began and that’s where I lost the plot (I also lost my earring there but it’s somewhat less important). All that good, rich, French cuisine has left me with a stomach the size of a beach ball and brains the consistency of purée.
I’ve met FP’s family several times and know them well. They’re kind, feed me extremely well, and we hit it off the very first time we met.
Driving from FP’s apartment to his parent’s normally takes roughly an hour and a half of travelling time, however this particular trip my body chose to become hypoglycaemic. A lot of dry heaves (me) were done and a lot of panic-y, worried noises (him) were uttered while we drove along the autoroute frantically searching for a shop where a sugar fix was available. My hands were trembling, I was coming out in a cold sweat and I just knew if I didn’t eat soon I’d either faint or I’d vomit bile from the bottom of my empty stomach. ‘Oh dear God…’ I tried bargaining with the big guy again, ‘please don’t make me puke in front of my boyfriend. Please. I’ll never tell a lie again, I promise. Just don’t make me puke.’
Soon enough we arrived at some kind of rural supermarché, surrounded by abandoned cars and upturned trolleys. In my fevered state I was quite sure I could see tumbleweed dancing by the car as FP ran like Linford Christie into the tiny building with his wallet in his hand.
It felt like hours I was left in the car, in the stale, stifling heat of the afternoon sun. My stomach felt like it was eating itself and my whole body was quivering uncontrollably. I took big deep breaths, in…out…, and then little panty ‘whoo! whoo!’s as though I was giving birth. I entertained myself for a few moments while I thought about babies and giving birth and how glad I was that I wasn’t actually giving birth in a car, somewhere off a Parisien autoroute. Rudely interrupted by cramps in my stomach, I prepared myself for another round of dry bokes as I opened the car door and heaved onto the pale, sandy road. Two men standing by the door of the supermarché looked at me in disgust.
But I didn’t care. The little black dots swam before my eyes and then I saw him. My saviour. My hero. FP armed with chocolate cookies, cans of sugary juice and a Dairy Milk. He was running towards me as though in slow motion. ‘What a man!’ I thought in relief.
More stories of my weekend to follow!