'Of course we have to have a vacation! The boys can't go back to everyone talking about their extravagant furloughs off to the Maldives and then one-up them by raving about their daily trips to the burn clinic in Ludwigshafen.'
'Okay, but you can't fly and a trip to the ocean is pretty much out of the...'
'Yeah, yeah - how about Paris?'
'Uh, sure, but the boys start school in two weeks.'
'Yeah, and I start next week. We'll leave tomorrow.'
A quick check with Google pleased me that we could make the journey in 4 hours and 52 minutes. What Google Maps doesn't take into consideration, though, is the number of bladders you have traveling with you.
David and Tommy helped, but Peter definitely put the 'P' in Paris. So yeah, approximately 8 hours and 254 bladder breaks later, we finally reached our new cage.
Peter raced into the lobby and damn near tackled the concierge.
'Where's the bathroom??!!'
Luckily, the hotel staff spoke English. An added bonus that we would not have known without Peter - the hotel had several toilets, all conveniently spaced out to ensure that no guest could walk more than 15 feet without immediate access to a urinal. Ahh, comfort away from home.
We checked in and decided to head out into the city for some grub. Along the way, Peter perched himself on a slab of concrete and, for some reason still unknown to normal humans, started to meditate. Om mani padme Disneyland.
David also had no freakin' idea what Peter was doing, but silly things like 'reasons why' never got into the way of David emulating his bigger brother. Perch me up, Mama!
Eventually we found a pub that could quench my thirst and feed wild animals. On the way home, what had started out as 'Odd boy meditating' turned into the latest fashion trend in Paris that I like to call 'Odd boy on a slab of cement with the coolest guys around getting primed for Disneyland.'
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