Monday, 24 November 2008

Wet, wet, wet

I feel such a weedy weed. I used to be intrepid, adventurous. I used to boldly go, and even to go boldly to assiduously avoid split infinitives (until someone suggested it wasn't even grammatically incorrect). Now I read Jaywalker's adventures to the circus with her boys in the snow and think: "She describes herself as an 'unfit mother'. What does that make me?" I do not expect answers on an e-card, thank you.

We did try to take La Fille out yesterday, really we did. We decided to go to the Guignols puppet show on the Champs Elysées and perhaps take a stroll down the Christmas Market nearby. We looked out of the window and noticed it was snowing, or more accurately, raining soggy ice but it did not look that wet. We dressed accordingly, though for some inexplicable reason the Frenchman forgot to wear a hat or bring gloves and neither of us bothered to grab one of the half a dozen umbrellas next to the front door. "It's just a bit of rain," he said, as he always does. We jumped on the Metro heading for the left bank of the Seine so we could take a pleasant stroll over the river, but in the 15 minutes it took to get there the drizzle had turned into a downpour. We ploughed on valiantly the Frenchman and I walking around huge puddles, La Fille through them to reach the Seine. It was only 100 yards or so but by the time we on the bridge we were completely drenched. The rain was osmosing up my trouser legs and the Frenchman complained he was "frozen". When La Fille said she was cold I discovered her trousers were making their way to her knees - taking her knickers with them - because I had forgotten to tighten the elastic in the waist. Consequently the bottoms were so soaked they were dripping water into her boots. To make me feel even more guilty she wailed: "It's all my fault, Mama. I forgot my umbrella," as her glasses steamed up under an oversized hat.

We were by now half way across the bridge over the Seine with the Eiffel Tower, half shrouded in cloud behind us, and the coloured lights of the Christmas Market stalls half shrouded in rainy snow in front. The idea of watching a puppet show in soaking wet clothes did not seem a great idea but I didn't want to disappoint La Fille. "Where's the puppet theatre?" I yelled at the Frenchman who was in charge of logistics. "Don't know," he yelled back. "Well which direction?". "Don't know." "What, no idea?" "Not a clue." I said: "Let's go home." I looked at La Fille: "Home?". She nodded. Water ran off her nose and dripped into her sodden scarf.

We came home. Pathetic really.


Penni said...

We're off camping. Thunderstorms are forecast.

There better be a special place in the afterlife for me. I never understood sensory deprivation tanks until I had children. Now I want to install one in the shed.

Iota said...

You should've taken the umbrellas because then it wouldn't have rained. Murphy's law.

The word verification is "coldetra", which seems appropriate, somehow.

Dumdad said...

What happened to the intrepid, roving, fearless, battle-hardened war correspondent that you were?! I think it's tougher in the children zone than the war one.

Jaywalker said...

Blah. It does sound horrible. And I saw the Christmas market on France 2 in my daily communion with David Pujadas's eyebrows, and it looked rubbish.

I am still an unfit mother. The CFO described our house today as "a cold dustbin".

Stinking Billy said...

It must be the whisky but,somehow, I don't care. I have just finished evaluating a wife's 'put-down' of her husband (see my reply to 'moannie') and here I land up at your judgement of 'pathetic' re your own husband's performance on a rainy day in not the most ideal of conditions.

Blogging material is not normally easy to find but, honestly, aren't husbands just sitting ducks? Ask yourself if you have been entirely fair to him. Could you have done any better?

parisgirl said...

Penni, make it big enough for me to join you!
Iota, and coldetra is what I have now.
Dumdad, I keep asking myself the same question without finding an answer. With children there are fewer bombs and bullets, but it's like a long drawn out war of attrition.
Jaywalker, that just makes you an unfit cleaner not an unfit mother. Besides, you do such interesting things with vegetables with your children!
Billy, the "pathetic" was meant to apply as much, if not more, to me. But you're right, you husbands are such easy targets!

Henry the Dog said...

I love your blog. You always make me laugh. You are not wet. I hate wet too. What's the point? Mum insists in going out in all weathers. I reckon you should stay in and remain toasty and warm in horrid weather. Who wants intrepid? Give in to wussieness. Give me cosy any time.

Parisgirl said...

Thanks Henry, glad to know you're on my side!