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7:17 a.m. - Saturday, Mar. 15, 2003
Ms Leslie Gets Some Traveling Clothes and Dines in France....Southern France

I had an entry all written and ready to post. It was a little story about Ann, written in fun but I admit, at her expense. I planned on putting it here as revenge for her 0630 telephone call to ask me what time it was.

Unfortunately, she showed uncommon tolerance and restraint yesterday as she chauffeured me around to my last hour of electrolysis before I leave. That was followed by lunch at a place we�d never been but wanted to try, and then a spell of disorganized shopping for little gifts to give my handlers in Thailand. Finally, she waited outside while I found a couple of things to make cross stitching easier and some new clothes from Lane Bryant. All of this was conditional on my promise to refrain from posting the entry. Too bad. I think it was funny. Unless she pisses me off in the future, I guess you�ll never find out.

I�ve been putting off buying any clothes. Money�s an issue, since I�ve had to put just about everything into my upcoming surgery. But even more than money, I�ve fallen into the trap of thinking I should wait until I lose weight. Now that I�ve taken of some of the pressure to lose, not only am I losing, but I also realized I can buy smaller clothes when I need them. New clothes, after all, aren�t going to make me look any fatter than old clothes. I might as well be fat and wear clothes I like as be fat and wear clothes I hate. Am I the first one to figure this out?

Lunch was, I�m sorry to confess, at a French bistro. Yes, I do hate the French. At least right now I do. Maybe I always have. They�re arrogant without reason. Arrogance is fine by me, but not arrogance with no reason. Still, God help me, I do love their cheese. Half of my bodyweight came from Brie.. might even still BE Brie, for all I know. I mean, how different is Brie from body fat anyway? In fact, not counting snails, I like all French food. Or at least I like what passes for French food on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. And maybe that�s the point. I can hate the French, but I don�t hate chez Bubba. He�s just a good ole boy, southern born and bred, trying to make a buck selling something a little different from the southern fried chicken, southern fried catfish, southern fried hushpuppies, and southern fried everything else so easily had down here. Geez�. You northerners. Did you know they have deep fried dill pickles on the menus here? Yes. I said Dill Pickles. Fried.

As far as I am concerned, they go well with snails, and that�s when I intend to eat them. The same day I decide to eat snails.

At lunch, I had a crisp salad, lined with a spicy vinaigrette dressing and sprinkled with sugared pecans. Even a war with France won�t keep me from coming back for another one of those salads. It was followed by an omelet filled with spinach and cheese, with some of the all time best broccoli I have ever in my life tasted laid on the side. See, that�s the thing about French food. I can�t find a way to describe the tastes, except to just dumbly repeat delicious. I don�t know what they put in it. I just know it�s almost always good. Leave out the snails and I can say always good.

We were the only diners. It was mid afternoon. We had the waiter exclusively to ourselves and he was most attentive. It was dark and quiet inside. Had our waiter been able to stop saying y�all, I think we could have imagined ourselves for a half hour, inside a nicer little restaurant by the Seine.

�Oui Mademoiselles, and what can I get to drink for y�all?�

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