Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 202

You guys,

It was 2017 and our last day in Paris.

I wake up full after eating too much of a 10-course meal at 9pm the night before because Parisians eat late apparently, and am already forgiving myself for all the food I know I’m going to stuff myself with today. 

I’m not hungry for our lunch reservations at Chez Michel but they only serve three-course meals so we go ahead and order an appetizer, entree, and dessert—for each of us. As I’m eating to excess I know I should stop but we’re at Chez Michel. And it’s our last day in Paris. Just enjoy it, Char! We go home tomorrow and then you can stop over-eating. 

Sam and I lethargically walk back to the hotel and rest in the wonderfully air-conditioned room and take a nap. Our dinner reservations aren’t until 9pm. I hope I’m hungry by then.

I’m not, but at least I can now stand the sight of food. We agreed earlier in the day to just share a steak at Robert et Louise. But when we arrive we see they have rillette on the menu. It’s become my favorite food in Paris. And the fish mackerel starter looks good, too, and we should probably get a side of sautéed mushrooms with our steak, right? Our final meal in Paris. Our last hoorah. It’s okay, Char, it’s totally fine. Enjoy the last night of your trip. Please, will you? I eat all of it, and then have creme brûlée for dessert. My stomach is bursting through my dress. We cap the meal with Grand Marnier, and finally head back to the hotel.

I can’t even stand in the shower the next morning. How am I going to travel today? Sam goes down to the lobby to check out. I remain behind, crouched over the toilet, and force myself to throw up.

I manage to swallow a croissant and a small orange juice at the airport. It makes me feel better for a moment, then I’m nauseous again. I barely eat anything on the 8-hour flight, which is a real shame because it’s only on these magical international flights that they insist on feeding you full meals. 

Upon our arrival at Sam’s parents’ house in Long Island, my future father-in-law opens the front door and greets us with a happy, “Bonjour!” We talk for a bit but eventually I excuse myself to lay down. 

The next evening my parents arrive for the big first-time meeting of our parents, a dinner I’ve been looking forward to for months. I try to rally and socialize but feel utterly exhausted. 

The following day is a huge birthday celebration for my great aunt with family members I haven’t seen in many years and who Sam is meeting for the first time. I lay my head on his lap for the car ride and can’t believe how nauseous I still feel after two days.

I will not remember Paris for the food, or the fashion, or the cool Cabaret night club we went to our first night. I will remember it forever as the last time I ate until I was sick. 

---

Bleecker Bombs

A new podcast episode is out!

I read In The Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado. It was dark and fucked up and really well written. 

Listen to the episode on overcast.fm, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or Google Podcasts.

—

Until next week,

Charlie