Citroen

8 days have passed since I arrived in France. Days of scrubbing and cleaning have made my paws rather sore. This afternoon, we load into our Citroen and head to old Antibes (pronounced Aunt-eeb). We tell our children to go oggle others on the beach and stroll through the town. There is a wedding at the city hall, where all I can do is wish them much luck (because for sure, they will need it). As we come back to the beach and plunck ourselves down, we find our neighbors to be British. One raspy voiced female smoking pot (I wouldn't know, but my better half remembers the smell from his days in Buffalo) is talking non-stop and telling a child that wet arm pits are the source of all bad health, imploring the kid to change into dry clothes. Why not stop smoking pot instead, I ask myself, but have better sense than to ask the Brit directly. After many credit cards and bills (the beggar kindly tells me the machine does not take 10 euro bills), I manage to pay the parking lot, and head home. The sideview mirror on the right which was repaired only yesterday starts peeling off, necessitating my right index finger to hold it up the whole way home. Vive la france!