She wanted to come to France. To the South. That gorgeous place where the cicadas cry, the sky is blue, and the olive oil is golden and the lavender blue.  And you were so excited when you stepped on the plane.

A zillion miles later, you arrived.  Your body told you it was two o’clock in the morning. You couldn’t think straight. It was horrible. You had a headache and your stomach hurt.

And then your stupid husband takes a photo he really shouldn’t.

(Linda at Charles de Gaule airport, “waiting” for the TGV to arrive.)