Goodbye America!

Posted by Big Daddy Paul in Moving To France

We leave for Paris today.  As with any important occasion, it is time for airing grievances. America, I will not miss you.

I won’t miss our drug store, who calls me to tell me that our prescription is ready when it isn’t.

I will not miss the spiders who crawl over me at night and bite me in the stomach. (Seriously, our house seems like an arachnid club med.)

I won’t miss our cars. The Metro in Paris is a lot like your car, if your car was stinky and beset by pickpockets. There is a chance that I will miss the smell of gasoline on my fingers. Mmmm gasoline.

I will not miss our nearest grocery store, which has seven different kinds of Cheerios, but only one kind of apple. I will however, miss the cool, nose-ringed checker who made buying toilet paper and dental floss a little hipper.

I won’t miss wearing you, hoodies, shorts and flip flops. You’re SO unchic. Real men wear pants. And shoes. And sweaters. God that sounds awful.

I will not miss my Wednesday Nights. My inner circle, a group of softball guys who put the “ass” in class, has been going strong for over 10 years, hanging out every Wednesday to play softball, poker or just annoy one another. They will be easily replaced by Frenchmen and some house plants. Easily.

I will not miss people who say “Bang” instead of turn, as in, “I’ma bang a right and then be right in the thick of it.”

Baseball. Meh. I will henceforth call the NFL “American Football,” because the rest of the world knows what “real” football is.  Wanna know another “real” sport? Tennis. Yes, fucking tennis.

I will not miss you, convenience. Sure knowing what you are doing and saying most of the time is easy. We are not going for easy. Easy is overrated.

I won’t miss the feeling I get when I see someone who may be casing our neighborhood thinking, “Are those the guys who are going to die in our house from spider bites?”

I will not miss my dad’s group friends. Who wants to sit around drinking beer and making fun of one another’s kids anyway? That’s lame. I will revel in drinking wine and honestly discussing my feelings in French. Totally not lame.

France is going to love the shit outta me!

France is going to love the shit outta me!

I will not miss you deodorant. How lucky am I to be moving to France!

I’m not gonna miss Amy’s once-a-year book club offering at our house. Those ladies know how to party and usually end up thrashing our house. (Book club, indeed. They ought to rename it “excuse to gossip about industry people and drink wine.”)

Those neighborhood cats who crap everywhere and pee on anything left out overnight will not be missed. I wish I had been able to microwave more of them.

I am not going to miss the sun. Sure, it will be cold, dark and rainy for the next 6 or 7 months. The sun causes cancer, though. Look it up.

I will not miss seeing Malcolm and his friends growing up together. Granted, some of them have been together since their respective births, and know absolutely everything about each other.  Even so, keeping track of all those details: who is playing what sport, who has read what Harry Potter book, and who is missing new teeth, is too complicated. I would rather just look at your kids when we get back and ask, “Who the fuck is that?”

I will not miss you chicken wings. OK, that’s a lie. I will miss you chicken wings. And you, beer.  And while we are at it, all you different kinds of Mexican foods, my heart will yearn for you.

I will not, cannot, won’t not miss our friends.  You know who you are. We belly laugh together over drinks. You know all the gory details about what our kid is REALLY like and vice versa. You know when I am down and need a hug. I know when you want me to touch your butt (even when you say you don’t!). We’ve been to each other’s birthdays, weddings and hospital stays. We celebrate made up holidays, mourn losses and take amazing trips together. Sometimes, we finish each other’s … While our lives are so much better for the friendship, we will walk away and totally forget about you. It’s like we never even knew each other at all.

The moisture in my eyes right now is from some onions I cut up a while back and from the realization that I will soon be watching Mulan II on an airplane. Totally.

So goodbye America.

France, prepare to be boarded.

Does France have spiders? Hope not.


11 responses to “Goodbye America!”

  1. Leon says:

    Funny, we just found a house plant to stand in for you on Wednesdays. The guys are excited about it.

  2. Leon says:

    Just read the rest of this post. Well done sir. You will be missed. I look forward (and am a little frightened) to meet Parisian Paul.

  3. Brad says:

    I hear the French love it when Americans giggle every time someone says “wee, wee”.

  4. Jenni says:

    Take good notes and pictures. This adventure will make a great book some day. This isn’t your typical American in Paris story.

  5. Jen Roop says:

    Have a great time. Write blogs about nutters in Paris and aborad (including ex pats). And eat everything! Europeans don’t care if you are fat – especially if you plan to sport a speedo on the Mediterranean. Bon voyage.

  6. Regina says:

    Good riddens, sniff, and don’t let the Camembert make you fat!

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