It was 1986 and there had been some bombings in Europe but I managed to convince everyone that a month long trip to Paris, France, at the invitation of my older cousin who was living there at the time, was a good idea.

My cousin is the first to admit what a fucking nightmare that trip turned out to be for the 17 year old me so I think I can write about it here with her unspoken blessing.

The experience was good and bad and, ultimately, made me the badass I am today so I don’t regret any of it. Granted, I am viewing the tale through the rear view mirror of a 51 year old so it’s bound to have a different spin on reality. No matter … this is my reality now, so who cares?!

I adored my cousin because she was, by far, one of the most interesting people I’d ever encountered in my life at that time. I didn’t grow up with her and, in fact, I didn’t meet her until I was a teenager. She was tall, beautiful, exotic, and hilarious.

She resembled Boy George so, being a solid byproduct of the 80’s, I bedeviled her endlessly with pleas to, just once, dress up and lip sync for me. She never did although she would occasionally mimic his dance moves to my eternal delight and giggles.

She is responsible for bleaching my 80’s rat-tail platinum blonde and helped me make the coolest Cleopatra Halloween costume ever! She “chaperoned” my first real date and sat on the hood of the car at the drive-in, leaving me and the handsy guy in the car. Yup, she was THAT cool!

So, when she invited me to spend a month in Paris with her, her French boyfriend, and her young daughter, I jumped at the chance, bombings be damned!

[End of Part 1 of 7]