A couple of years ago, I wrote about visiting Aix-en-Provence and the surrounding area, as my husband and I drove around in circles while two competing navigational systems – Miss Moneypenny and Miss Google Maps – bossed us around, and our teen son hid in the back programming a new million-dollar app (at least, I hope that’s what he was doing – though it sounded a lot like he was playing Fruit Ninja).
But then he said those horrible words:
He started to go on about how, even though we’d had a great time together, he could only be an intern for so long, and how it was probably time for him to go back to Switzerland and get a real job and…
I realized the horrible truth.
But Karl, being Karl, informed me that before he could continue to star in my blog, he needed to spend some time in the machine spa to get his annual cleanse, lube and Botox touch-up.
A little while later, I pulled up with a large box in the Jeep, and said, “not to worry Karl, go off and have your spiritual journey/tummy tuck.