It's not just towels!

Sandals from our honeymoon seven years ago. The Mauritius leg of it, NOT the safari in Tanzania (in case you wondered). From mock-Italian brand Enzo Poli. Used to be a favorite, together with the same in black. Now in permanent exile in France, maybe hoping to get back in fashion again, who knows (as you might have realized by now, yours truly is not particularly good at throwing away things she does not really appreciate anymore).

Things are starting to come together at our house. Finally. I must admit that it has not exactly been a walk on the park, though. I suspect this might be a cultural issue, but if you want to survive in France without growing an ulcer, you will need a good portion of patience. Any deficits in the patience department can - fortunately - be balanced out with just the right amount of chilled rosé.

For instance when the internet guy that you set up a "rendez-vous" with more than a month ago does not turn up, and - of course - does not bother to call and inform you about it. And when the three (!) incredibly romantic canopy beds that you ordered online in March (!) for delivery on July 1st suddenly cannot be delivered because the truck is to big to be allowed to pass through the village. One would think that wouldn't really come as a surprise after close to three months. After all, I DID provide my address when I placed the order, didn't I? Fortunately, the truck disaster incident was swiftly solved when I (not enough rosé, I guess) called the carrier and CRIED, begging them to find a smaller truck. No French male can resist helping a damsel in distress.

Now, at last we are down to the smaller details. Who are not really any less frustrating, as - since I have really put my heart and soul (yes, I might have one of each) into furnishing this house in my "French-countryside-meets-Scandinavian-minimalism" way for months now, I refuse to let things slide now that we are so close to MY idea of MY perfect summer house. So, poor Mr. Incredible is dragged all over Cannes and it's vicinity looking for The Perfect Beach Towels to match our Perfect Sunbeds (acquired after several rounds of optimization).

I found them. And, as so many things I tend to like, most of them were designed by this clever American dude called Ralph. Which is another word for "expensive". When Mr. Incredible saw the price tag, he just marched out of the store and back to the car.

Back in the car, I decided to go "all-in". It is a ruthless thing to do, but sometimes a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. I played the IKEA-card. Faced with the threat of having to drive to IKEA outside Toulon to buy more decently priced, but absolutely very acceptable towels, he jumped out of the car again. All of a sudden, we could buy ANY towels. Regardless of price.

I do not loose my temper very often, but that was when I drove off. Leaving a very sorry husband in the parking lot in the pouring rain, no money and no cell phone...

Of course, I returned and I picked him up, and we got the towels (surprise!). Although it would surely had made a much better story if I hadn't, I am totally aware of that.

Sigh. Why do men have to be so difficult! They know deep inside that we always get what we want in the end anyway, so why do they bother....?


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