How is you Monday panning out? Oh mine, well, the same ole same ole. Hanging out in a dusty place in Paris with a bunch of half nude men. Could be worse, but I don't know how.
I wish I had a proper chair, sitting on the radiator kind of hurts if you know what I mean.
The floor is done, the floor boards will be added later.
As I watched the trio doing their thing, I thought about changing my mind.
I thought if blurting out, "Let's rip it out and keep the original floors! My brother Mat thinks hard wood is the only way to go!"
The floor alone will cost 2100 Euros (not including the work) for 50 square meters. Hard wood floors would have cost 7000 Euros and it was not the top of the line.
So my thought was… not your main house. Stop.
But today I thought, "Ripping it out would mean seeing these guys doing their thing … longer.
I could so take the word longer for a ride, but I will keep my blog clean and nice.
Yann took the truck back last week, and he will bring the third load next week.
I am missing him.
Missing him.
Missing him.
Photo via Ma Cocotte, restaurant at the Flea Market in Paris.
The words above are tender endearments such as we would say, Honey, Darling, Sweetheart, Babe… In French (in order) the words literally are:
my flea — ma puce,
my rabbit — mon lapin,
my doe — ma biche,
mon chou — ma cabbage,
ma poule — my chicken,
ma caille — my quail,
ma cocotte — my casserole (seriously!).
I call French Husband, Cherie FM, after a French radio channel, with the same name, that he listens to.
Yesterday, Chelsea and I went to the brocante in St Ouen. It was Chelsea's first time. From what she said she liked at the flea market, I would claim her to be true to her generation, "Mid century modern."
We had lunch here: Ma Cocotte, mid century modern.
Cherie FM come back.
Guys rip out the floor for my brother Mat.
Chelsea does this mean when I die you are going to put our house in a yard sale?
I got to stop writing my blog at night after a glass of wine.
What do you call your loved one?
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