You might surmise from the title of this post that I've already shared one piece about the Paris attacks.
You would be correct.
I did write about France's terrorist problem. You can click here and read it if you want. But you should know that I omitted two tidbits from that entry: the day of the attacks was my birthday, and my parents were in Paris when shit went down.
Don't worry. We're all fine. Well, except me. I just got a whole year older, and that can't be good for me.
Anyway, my parents live in France eight months out of the year. Their house is located less than 90 minutes from the heart of Paris. However, they're more likely to tool around in Bruges, Amsterdam, Rome, Vienna, etc., since they've seen Paris more times than I've seen my husband naked.
They've done about all there is do there (the same of which can be said of my encounters with my naked husband), so they prefer exploring what else life has to offer (which can not be said about me and my naked husband.)
My point is this: It was weird that they were there. Furthermore, it was odd that I even knew that's where they were.
Mom and Dad are world-hoppers (thanks to my father's international job), so they travel a lot, and they don't always inform me of when they're flying. The only reason I knew my parents were in the city to catch a plane at the Charles de Gaulle Airport is because they called me on the road to Paris to wish me a happy birthday.
Anyway, I learned of the attacks via social media. I figured they were fine, but my birthday was on Friday the 13th, so it seemed plausible that I would have the shitty luck of having my parents killed in a terrorist attack ON MY BIRTHDAY.
Long story short: I called my mom's cell, she picked up on the first ring, skipped "Hello?" and went straight to "We're fine."
So, that was that. My parents were in their hotel room, safe and sleepy. In fact, they had snoozed through a good portion of it.
The next day, Dad boarded his flight to Shanghai just as planned (a work trip). He told me (via text) that he was surrounded by a lot of military personnel with machines gun, and I texted back, "Pics or it didn't happen," and he texted back, "Are you trying to get me killed?," and I texted back, "No?," which contained a question mark intended to convey the sentiment of, "Why would I kill you?" and came off a little differently to Pops, who responded, "Why are you not clear on whether or not you are trying to get me dead? Okay. Boarding."
Mom drove back to their country home Saturday morning, with no incident. Sure, traffic sucked, she said, but it hardly seemed an inconvenience considering that she and her husband were both unscathed.
She called me later that day, just to talk, because she knew this was a moment in history. She said that everything about that day reminded her of hearing about the World Trade Center on September 11, in that events unfolded in stages, and that it took awhile to comprehend that it was part of a larger coordinated attack plan. She also conveyed that the nation's mood is an (understandably) somber one. Then, like the French woman she has become, she ended the conversation by saying, "Vive la France."
So, yes, I got older this year. But the Universe actually gave me a gift this year, in that it revealed to me when I should hide in a bunker to save myself.
On my birthday, France suffered the largest attack on its soil since World War II. On my older sister's birthday, Sept. 11, well, you know what happened then. So, as a warning, I'm just letting you know that my other two siblings were born April 7 and June 24.
Mark your calendars.
True story: Life would be super swell if we all embraced our OMG side instead of living a Facebook-friendly existence. So, let it out. Tell me how Feel free to disclose details. You're safe here.