Back in France!

But that exclamation mark doesn't quite represent my feelings about returning. When I first boarded the plane to come back here early this week, I was aiming for stoic acceptance - holidays over, job resumed, but hey, at least my commute is to France, which adds a bit of glamour to the usual slug of back-to-reality blues.

But then Air Canada lost all of my luggage. Wearing the same travel clothes for the last three days, without hair dryer or tweezers or razor or the usual necessities of a well-groomed life, while airport authorities shrugged their shoulders and gave me the run-around, has wrung every bit of glam out of this adventure. I'm hoping that publicly complaining about it here will mean that all of my stuff will turn up again, and I will soon be writing a sheepish post about how I complained about nothing, about how all the meltdowns that I've only barely managed to curb over the last 48 hours were in fact disproportionate to the problem. I can't wait to write a post from that vague, happy future. Please please pleeeeeeeease let it come.

I promise never to complain about our awful kitchen again if my luggage is returned to me. You heard me, Airport God. I offer you sacrifice.