The Princess and I are in Paris. Instead of a hotel we opted to stay in an apartment rental. We’re in a fantastic location and for the most part, the apartment is pretty decent. Except for the bathroom. The bathroom is divided into two spaces: the shower and sink, which connects to the bedroom, and the toilet, which is between the apartment entrance and the kitchen. The door to the toilet room sticks and I am now trapped in here. The Princess went out for a walk 40 minutes ago – I’m supposed to be dressed and ready to head out for a day at the Louvre when he returns (supposedly at 11), but instead I am still in pajamas, sitting on the toilet.

The Princess is never on time for anything, which means his 11am return is likely more like 11:30. So I’ll have been in the bathroom for well over an hour by the time he gets back.

I am pretty sure there was a dead guy on the last flight the Princess (my man/lifemate) and I were on. I say that because at about the halfway point of the flight there was a whole lot of hullabaloo. People in a row behind and to the left of me were all out of their seats and a number of flight attendants had converged there. 40 years ago that would just mean that he was the guy with the good coke, but nowadays it’s either a terrorist or a medical emergency. Everyone was way too calm for it to be the former, so – medical emergency. They finally made an announcement asking if there was a doctor on board. Though another announcement was soon made that a doctor was no longer needed. The guy was clearly not all better, so I figure ‘no longer needed’ means, dead. The seatmates were all moved to other seats and seem to have been given free alcoholic beverages for the remainder of the flight, and everyone else on the plane was given little tubs of ice cream. So I’m left with the thought that there was a dead guy buckled into seat 35A for a good 3 hours. Hopefully someone prepared his tray table and seat for landing.