Prepped and Packed

I've been preparing for this trip since December, but during the past week it's gotten intense. I have lists "TO DO" and lists "TO TAKE" and lists "TO CLEAN" That last one always gets The Man because he cannot understand why I have to clean the house before we leave! (He also has difficulty with the concept of the "blowdryer," but I'm not taking one on this trip so it's irrelevant.)

I have been studying four, dusty French language books that have been laying around, familiarizing myself with French vowel sounds and that gutteral thing they do, because I really don't want to sound like a total nullard when I ask for directions to the nearest toilet.

I found my old "Street-Wise Paris" map and familiarized myself with the arrondisements. I've acquainted myself with the Metro system. I've spent hours (hours!) attempting to decifer the various transportation passes available in Paris, every blog, every forum. Paris Visite? Carte Orange? Navigo? Mobilis? Or, just a "carnet," s'il vous plait. These are all options for using Paris' extensive public transport. It's hard to believe, but the Roman system is so much simpler!

I've been deciding on my clothing for three days now. I'm shooting for comfort with class, which isn't easy when you're dealing with a pile of ragamuffin clothes like I've got. At least I'm not taking my scrappy jeans or any sweat pants. However, my footwear will be headlined by "Fluffy and Muffy," (see previous post "Big Giant Feets.") so you can see my dilemma.

And, lastly, I've developed a craving for French-fries.

I think I'm ready.

The Man, on the other hand, just pulled out "ol' greenie," his 20 year old, broken suitcase. He got out two pair of pants, a shirt, a sweater, socks and underwear and says, "I'm packed."

Is he really packed, or is he just trying to teach me something? Think, little Grasshopper, think!

Can't think now. Must pack. Will think later