Time For An Intervention

I now know what it feels like to be an addict.

To think about something every second of every day. To long for it. To hear it in every word, to see it in every face.

My name is Katie, and I am a talk-about-France-aholic.

Like all addictions (except for heroin – I don’t think anyone really “dabbles” in heroin), it started out innocently enough. I got back to the states* at peak small-talk season: the holidays.

Instantly, well-meaning relatives, long-lost friends, and people from high school that I ran into at Walgreen’s were asking me about my trip, eager to scoop up every last detail. Okay, eager is probably not the correct word. In reality, 90% of the people that ask the question “how was France” are satisfied with a cookie-cutter response: “It was great….blah blah blah…..met amazing people…..blah blah blah….learned the language…..blah blah blah…..baguettes.”

As I had these conversations at Christmas parties with parents, at bars with my friends, or sitting on the couch with my dog, I could sense my audience’s general lack of enthusiasm, but chose to ignore it. After all, who could not want to hear about that hilarious time I thought I ordered a chocolate croissant, when I actually ordered a plain one? Priceless, right?

The only benefit of my incessant chattering at the beginning was that I had a (semi) captive audience willing to indulge me. However, as the time passed and the novelty of my worldwide exploration wore off, people have started to seem less amused. When your own mom would rather get caught up on Dexter than hear your stories, you know you’ve probably talked past the close.

And so here we are. My addiction rages on, despite some rather obvious social cues.

I can feel my company becoming tiring, but yet I just can’t help myself. This must be how Kanye West feels.

At first, I was careful to limit my stories to the relevant, hilarious, or grotesque (or sometimes all three).

But now….everything relates. You’re going to the grocery store? When I went to the grocery store in France….. Eating a sandwich? I ate a sandwich once in France. Hey, that beer can pyramid looks like the Eiffel Tower! (although I actually thought that was a rather astute observation).

Only time will tell if I will become annoying enough to lose all my friends and end up as a crazy cat lady.

Until then, let me know if you have any questions about France….because I’ve totally been there.

 

*I’ve always wanted to refer to the U.S. as “the states”. Now that it’s on paper, I can’t decide if it makes me sound well-traveled or like a pretentious d-bag….I’m thinking the latter.

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2 responses

  1. I can totally relate to this post. Nobody wants to hear about Madagascar, West Africa, or New Caledonia. Find some other Francophiles! There must be a few out there in the mid west. Or maybe you will just have to go back????
    Gros bisous, kris

  2. So….your Mom’s watching Dexter, huh?

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