It’s been about a week since I returned to France and I know what you’re thinking. She’s over there hove off (translation: reclining goddess-style) like any famous author would be in her swanky European enclave, surrounded by an entourage fielding requests for media appearances while dining on pheasant under glass. Well someone has been hoving off in fine style. Here’s a clue: sparkly red hair, face full of teeth, heart of gold. Yes, Rusty the Wonderhusband is flat on his back and Bobbi the Wackywife has been picking up the slack.

Somehow (the exact details remain sketchy) Neil threw his back out the day we left Canada and has been wracked in spasm ever since. Now if you’ve spent any time with me at all you know what’s coming next. Consistency is my middle name, so as far as I’m concerned the effect on me is the only thing worth talking about.

I had to get the groceries (three times) and I had to do the recycling and the trash. I also agreed to clean a friend’s vacation house this week in addition to cleaning the housette (in the middle of some weird May heat wave), so 4 toilets, 4 bedding changes and 10 loads of laundry later I’m thinking what I need is an IV wine line and a slew of British housemaids to mop her ladyship’s floors and brow.

Oh I know this is nothing compared to what anyone with kids and a job has to do in the run of a week, but it’s all relative. The time change has me dragging my big floppy feet more than usual. I’ve had to finally get back to studying French which does wonders for my mood. Plus I am what the French call paresseuse (lazy), which I have to admit has a far nicer ring to it than entitled sloth who expects the world to revolve around her.

At least he’s still able to make dinner. I did offer to cook and I must say I have never seen someone so hunched over hobble so quickly toward a kitchen. Curious that. Anyway he had better get loose right quick. His final driving test on Wednesday and my final straw is right around the corner.