C'est la vie

As you may know, I'm leaving for France soon. Moving there, really, because I'll have an address and a bank account and everything. But I just don't know if it really counts as moving when I leave all my stuff at home and just take one suitcase with me. Please, of course it counts. I'm moving to France!

As I've been preparing for this (and sheesh, France doesn't joke around when it comes things you have to do to move there), I've also been imagining the ways I'll change during my stay in the Alps.

Of course, I'll become infinitely more chic, and French-girl thin. I'll learn to cook a perfect soufflé. I'll perfect my sultry gaze (who am I kidding, I'd have to at least have one of those to begin with) and gain so much confidence that all those boys back in the states with whom I was so enamored will suddenly fall at my feet, but I'll actually fall in love with...

Humphrey Bogart?

Merde. My French future is not mine. It's just Sabrina.

So, I guess it's back to the drawing board. Maybe this time I'll just let France tell me what is going to happen. Probably a better idea anyway, non?

(but I would really like to learn to crack an egg with one hand.)