And so, it begins.

I’m not even in France, and already craziness.

Here goes: Maman and I arrive on different days. Yeah, not sure how this happened and what substances were involved {legal ones, I’m sure of that}, but somehow the following happens …

I get a text from Maman, inquiring about our arrival on 2 July. I immediately write back and am all: don’t you mean the 1st? She’s all: don’t YOU mean the 2nd?

Oh, shit.

Call her right away and we find out that, yes, I arrive on the 1st and she on the 2nd. How this happened, we’re — no, make that, I — am still dumbfounded, since she was on the freaking phone with me when I booked my ticket.

But, that’s all beside the point, because now it’s game on for me solo upon arrival. Which means solo upon checking in to the apartment that’s in Maman’s name. Which means, as I just found out via a nice FedEx bank draft from Maman, I need 2,000€ — in cash for a security deposit.

Must hand over to the aparatement {yes, it’s in French, I did not mis-spell apartment, though I wouldn’t put it past me to do} owner on Sunday. They won’t take anything else. Nothing. Must be cash. Must be the entire amount upfront. This causes for a couple logistical issues.

1. ATMs are out of the question — 2,000€ would be around $2,700 and neither one of us has a daily allotted ATM limit over $1,000.

2. I thought of every other option, including a bank draft for the owner, none of which panned out when thoroughly thought through.

3. Must find Euros. ASAP. Lots of them.

The joys of living in the Cincinnati area, are thus: no bank has 2,000€ to give to one customer. They must be ordered. I must interject at this point that I really missed D.C. and L.A. — I could think of easily a handful of places off the top of my head where you could go {day and night} and walk out with whatever amount needed.

Mute point. Here I am and the whole long drawn out point to this story is: I found a bank, right by me, that will have them for me by Friday, if not Thursday. Granted, it’s taken TC and Brother to pull this off, but it’s being done as I type.

Now I’m going to have deal with TC calling me 24/7 over the next few days in an absolute frantic panic about me carrying that many Euros on me. He’ll do something like insist that I wear them around my neck in one of those tacky pack things that you can also put your passport in.

He’ll grill me on crazy one off scenarios that stand a .09339% chance of happening. He’ll insist that I never leave them unattended {Duh!}. Basically he’ll be freaking till I make the call that the money has been handed over, and that we do actually have an apartment to stay in — cause yeah, he’s doubtful about that, too. Or at least that’s in the described-as shape it claims to be in.

Have I mentioned how much I adore his positive, care-free outlook on life?

I try to tell him, look, when you need to get shit done, there’s no other option but for it to work out when you have the The Universe on your side. Because all is working out right now.

I mean, how much more perfect could it have been when at the bank, the woman helping us, had the same first name as Maman, which um, never happens. Ever. Who the hell names their daughter, Billie? Those who don’t live in Ohio, that is. And she and Brother share the same birthday.

That was all the confirmation that I needed, which as TC said, how reassuring that you don’t need more.

As I told him, it’s a good thing I happen to believe The Universe is always on on our side. Note: just not mine. This includes, you, too. Cause you know, we’re in this together.

Always.