The Hipsters

Romanticize

After a couple of low key days spent either watching French movies or visiting one of the cities attractions, my mom, Hazel, and I packed our things for Boston.

Hazel had another fight with her parents over the phone. I'm not sure what was said, because she just chalked it up to them being 'the douchebag dickheads they've always been', but I know that she was crying after she hung up.  My mom tried to call them, but she pretty much ended up with the same conclusion. They had become dickheads.

"I just don't understand. They never used to be like this. I mean, you're their child for heavens sake-"

"Mom, can I pack the hotel soap, or does that scream thief?", I called from the bathroom.

"Thief!", she yelled back. I nodded and threw the soap, shampoo, and conditioner into my bookbag.

"Don't worry about it, Ms. Benson. I'm used to this shit by now.", Hazel assuaged my mom.

I have to say, I'm pretty excited to go back. I didn't realize how much I missed Boston and all its glory until I scrolled through some pictures in my phone and saw of couple of the Public Garden. I'm quite giddy about it, which never happens. It's weird for me, really, because the only other time I've been giddy was when I found out the Black Keys were playing near me, and even that was short lived.

"Hey," Hazel said, as her feet padded into the bathroom. "Do you think I should take the remote?"

I laughed. "What? Why, Hazel?"

"I want a keepsake of Paris."

"They have keychains for that.", I reminded her. She shrugged and walked out of the bathroom. I shook my head, and turned off the lights.

I walked into the kitchenette, being careful not to trip over all the bags. I had suggested we wait until the commotion of the morning was gone, because I did not want someone's sweaty taco meat of chest hair all over me as they waited to check-in. But they didn't listen. Mainly because checkout time was 11, and it was..10:22.

"Beatrix. Do not touch that instant hot chocolate.", my mom warned from her room, and I immediately retracted my hand.

"But it doesn't actually say hot chocolate. It says 'instantanément délicieux chocolat chaud'", I explained carefully. My mom barely spoke French, so I didn't expect to her to know what I just-

"Instantly delicious chocolate drink is hot chocolate, Beatrix."

+ + + + + +

I stared at my seatbelt.

It was weird.

It was orange and gold, for starters. Maybe they were trying to be festive and spice up the plane. I don't know.

Second, they were extremely tight. I'm not the most overweight person in the world, but I know did gain at least 10 pounds from all those free cookies in the lobby. They were just sitting there, waiting to be eaten. And I..I answered their call. I'm not ashamed.

Did Air France assume that every one who boarded the plane was reasonably thin? I think French people are just thinner than Americans. Also, I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that America was amongst the fattest countries in the world.

But, I'm a pretty skeptic person. I had to see the F to believe I failed Algebra. Also, I had to get a copy and laminate it and stick it on my wall, so that my mom could warn me to never fail a class again. So, I'll probably have to see 100 obese people in one room to believe that statistic.