Obsessed! pissed me off this morning. He didn't get up but let his alarm keep me from sleeping for 30 mins at 4am. That is waaaayyyy too early for those sorts of shenanigans. Since I could no longer sleep, I got up and start getting ready another lovely day at the farmers' market.
Obsessed! got up last minute, woke Mali who spent the night and I consequently had to do my makeup in the dark in my bedroom with bad lighting because they were hogging the bathroom taking their showers.
Then there was yet another delay to leaving the house. Breakfast. I'm sorry, but when you get up late, do you cook a 3 course breakfast?! What kind of crazy person does that? Frenchmen! 5-10 minutes before we were to leave, Obsessed! started cooking. We left 20 minutes late. I was furious.
He dropped me off at my market and left to go to work. He knew he was in the dog house and started to feel bad so he turned around and came back. He found me sipping a café crème in a café next to the market where I was listening to my iPod and writing in my journal. He tried to talk to me but I was uninterested and couldn't really hear him over my music. When his moving lips sans sound got annoying enough, I removed the earbuds, cussed him out, put the earbuds back in and went on with my journal writing. He left.
Knowing that I had my shop-girl shift directly following my day selling fruits and vegetables, I went to the butcher to buy meat for a sandwich. $5 USD for 3 deli slices of ham. It turned out the butcher had been in the café and seen my little scene. Note to self, try to keep meanie freak-outs on your boyfriend confined to private spaces.
Ate a mango, 200 grams dried apricots, my 3 course breakfast, 8 inches of a baguette, a pain au chocolat, 3 slices of ham, 3 café crèmes, 1 chouquette, 1 clementine, 1 crêpe with leeks/béchamel/mushrooms/carrots, 1 yogurt, 1 hot chocolate.
I arrived at the clothing store in Saint Germain and got accidentally locked in the basement for an hour where I froze my ass off. I hated working there but, I've got to pay the bills. Welcome to my life. Shop girl it is.
Merde.
Poor little French shop girl.
ReplyDeleteI would think it very French to have a lover's spat in public? Just count it towards your French living experience.
ReplyDeleteThanks Tracey. I feel slightly less like a complete and total bitch now. You're right, I'm just being French!
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