I just quickly wanted to bitch about the fact that I am so old that the French don't even pause to consider calling me "mademoiselle". Nope, it's just straight up "madame", no questions asked. I mean, not a single person on the hotel staff even thought about calling me "mademoiselle" and aren't they supposed to be kissing your ass a little bit? That secures it. I am old. They look at me, they say she is obviously way too old to be a young miss. Way way too old.
The worst is that I was feeling sort of good about myself about in my new Cannes-specific dress (that my friend made me buy one afternoon when we were drunk on margaritas) then I stopped in at the hotel to take a short break and heard "Bonjour, Madame" about 47 times before getting to my room. It started turning into a horror movie where the staff in their uniforms got all elongated and haunted mirror funhouse warped and their voices got all deep and slow and I started running and they turned into clowns and chased me with knives in French maid outfits with red noses. Not really! I'm just jet lagged. Bonjour Madame was indeed a real nightmare though. Far too real.
Oh well, at least I am staying in a nice hotel and have a cute dress.
Here is a pic of my dress for Sarah. Please note the sailor rope. Like I said, Cannes specific. Ooh la la.
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