Pity City: Population 1

Mon petit prince,

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my one true love! Did you do anything particularly romantic pour la fete? Perhaps find yourself a pretty, little artsy thing to take to a fancy-pantsy New Haven establishment?

Oh Den, I cannot say my Valentine’s Day was all that I’d dreamed of. Pascal planned a lovely weekend trip to Essouria, the little seaside town in Southern Morocco that we’ve mentioned before. Our plans to leave first thing on Saturday morning were thwarted by what I thought was a passing stomach ache. Around noon, I feigned recovery and we hit the road, Jack. The drive is just over two hours and is typically very pleasant, as you pass through some wonderful country side, olive tree farms, quaint towns, etc. But, when you are entering into the initial stages of war with a vile stomach flu, it loses its charm. I tried to keep up the charade of feeling well but that was difficult to pull off, when, at one moment, I was forced to curl up into a ball in excruciating pain, and the next, I would unintentionally fall into a deep, sweaty, flu-ish sleep. He called my bluff soon enough, but I convinced him that I would recover by the time we arrived to the sea.

That was not so. Upon arrival to our perfect hotel, I went directly to sleep. Later that evening, I pulled myself out of bed and insisted that we could go to our romantic V-day dinner. I’m not sure why he agreed to be seen in public with me as I looked like I’d been run over by a bus and had no energy to primp myself. My super hot outfit consisted of a black hooded sweatshirt, sandals with purple socks underneath and my hair was, well, I suppose its usual unkempt-self. Dinner was brief. I had a sprite and he had carpaccio and chocolate cake. I tried to be cheerful and cute, but again, that is hard to do when you have to stop talking every five minutes to wince in pain. I was asleep by ten.

Next morning, same charade. I pretended to be okay for our day on the beach but after a few minutes, I insisted he go surfing so I could camp out in the car. We called it a weekend after that. Oy va voi.

Lots of love,
Julia