Running afoul

How it happened I am not quite sure but that foggy caffeine-resistant mentality turned to a dark roiling anger that scared off all that came into contact with me on Saturday. And certainly there was no reason for it. As a surprise, Frederique swung by so that we could do the market together, both of us with baskets over our arms and leashed dogs in hand. Right away I had the good fortune of finding my very favorite roses à l’ancienne, its creamy pink an increasing rarity. The vendor even gave me an extra, gratos, with a wink no less. I found a hyacinth for one Euro with the color and scent of the gloaming. A feast of Vietnamese dumplings bought. A surprise of three poignées or fistfuls of Autumn-orange girolle mushrooms for Remi? Check. And yet. I found myself growing increasingly annoyed, impatient with the crowds, the dampness in my bones, my ever-sniffing dog until my breath felt stifled in my chest.

Remi took a good look at me as I stormed into the kitchen, dramatically flinging my goods on the table. He wisely said nothing but later on, I could hear him taking out the beloved Creuset dish. Random chopping sounds. And then the perfume, the balm of something as warm as a mother’s hug wafted over me. My honey had decided to take matters into his own hands and made me roasted duck with garlic, white wine, oh so many things to soothe my blues. It is so nice to have someone to just take care of you sometimes. When we don’t know what to do with ourselves. Remi and I had a lovely evening talking and talking, laughing and on. Lucky girl I am.