This is a “Paris Through the Eyes of” post, but with a Mary Poppins-inspired title. I’ve been spending a lot of time with short people.
Marinka from Motherhood in NYC needs no introduction for most of the people who read my blog, and I’m sure you can all relate to how excited I was to have her guest post. I told her that there would finally be something witty on my blog.
(You will know that I was not in any way referencing my earlier dear guests, but rather poking fun at myself. I have a great sense of humor, but not a natural ability to inspire others to see it. I usually get clucking sympathy rather than laughter).
Marinka can rattle chains (mainly those of close friends and family) with her “I’m right; you’re wrong” posts, can bring up deeper issues even if they’re uncomfortable because they’re important, and she can always, always make us laugh.
Thanks Marinka.
(PS. Does anyone else sing “Skiddamarinka-dinky-dink” every time they say her name? No? I really need to get out more).
There’s a Russian joke that goes something like this, but in Russian:
Man: I really want to go to Paris again.
Friend: I didn’t know you’d been to Paris!
Man: I haven’t been. But I’d wanted to go before.
So maybe it’s really a joke about grammar, or syntax, but in Russian, it’s told about only Paris. Because Paris, always, is the symbol of sophistication, glamor and historically significant architecture and art.
Except if you’re me at 17, and it’s the late 1980s and just as you’re experimenting with liquid eyeliner, your parents are dragging you to Paris against your will for a “vacation.”
Then, Paris becomes a symbol of powerlessness in the face of parental tyranny, death marches through the Louvre and other culturally enriching establishments, a mental countdown of how many days are left in this City of Light(s) Torture before I could return to my beloved Bronx and weekday viewings of General Hospital.
“Try to open your stupid mind,” my parents urged. “Travel is wonderful opportunity to learn something.”
Hemingway and Co. may have considered Paris a moveable feast, but to me, time itself stood still as the days dragged on and on.
Until the beautiful day when my parents had a huge fight in front of Notre Dame Cathedral.
“You’ve read The Hunchback of Notre Dame, of course,” one of my parents looked at me significantly as we stood in front of the Cathedral.
“Of course,” I lied.
And then they said something to each other and within seconds there was a spark and one of them called the other a chimera.
“A CHIMERA?” the insultee gasped, breathing fire. “You have some nerve to call me a chimera. You’re a chimera yourself!”
This continued for a while while I almost pulled a muscle rolling my eyes.
“What the hell is a chimera?” I finally succumbed.
This shut them up long enough to wonder what kind of an illiterate moron they begot that did not know that a chimera was a sort of mish-mash creature of different animal body parts, a mixed breed if you will, used to warn people not to underestimate the devil.
“See?” My chimeric parents pointed to the Notre Dame, which apparently was adorned with exterior chimeras.
Turns out that my parents were right. I did learn something. The importance of using regionally appropriate insults.
I too think of that song when I think of Marinka. Also, her current location. That’s why I implanted a GPS tracker on her 2 years ago.
ANYway. Liquid eyeliner never had a chance. Once they started pushing the purples and blues, it was only a matter of time until it got axed. Sigh…
I want to go fight with someone in Paris.
Hahaha…I have a similar story but not about Paris, my parents dragged me out west! You crack me up! And I didn’t know that insult either so thanks…
I love learning new insults. It’s like my new happy secret weapon. (insert sword fighting noise)
Wouldn’t you give anything to go back in time and get the chance to go to Paris again?
Life experiences…wasted on the eyelinered young.
Well the insulter is pretty smart, I thought you were talking about the Russian word for a Chupacabra. But I didn’t think they were *that* offensive. Good thing there is google.
Leave it to Marinka to make me add “eat a chimichanga on the front stoop of a cathedral” to my Bucket List.
Funny, our last name is Hemingway and yes my husband’s grandfather was related. We just tell our other relatives, we have no money, don’t bother. We really don’t have any money.
Marinka was wonderful. Perfect choice.
And your story was very entertaining especially because I have a 16 year old and a 19 year old who always try to convince me (a MA in English) that they read that book. They read a lot just not the books I think they should read. “How to Escape a Zombie” doesn’t count even if it is 250 pages long. So sorry.
I’m going to enjoy reading about Paris. Are French men different than American Men. I studied French but Quebec was as far as I got and I’m not sure I could remember anything anyway.
Wow! Ms. Hemingway, very impressive.
French men are different than American men, but it also depends on who you marry. You can still find a kindred spirit, but he won’t call his son “buddy” or celebrate the Hallmark holidays or eat in between meals (unless it’s cheese on bread). 🙂
Buy me a drink on Monday night or I’m going to call you a chimera.
I thought they were calling each other ‘Chimineas’, like the portable stucco fireplaces. That would be weirder, I guess…
Even fighting in Paris sounds sexy.
OMG, Erin’s comment above cracks me up.
It sounds like your trip was full of drama, angst, resentment. Tres sexy, no? I would have loved to see Luc Besson direct this.
Marinka’s Paris is my Colonial Williamsburg in 1987, except without the liquid eyeliner because I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup yet.
I am loving this series of guest posts!
Marinka, wouldn’t “gargoyle” have been a more fitting insult? Just saying. And to commenter MEP (if that is in fact your name), I had a torturesome Colonial Williamsburg experience myself — in my case it was 1982 and my sister and I wore tricorner hats everywhere with Adam Ant makeup on. We were interpreting “colonial” as “New Wave swashbuckling.”