And so it's official---Paris and me just don’t mix. Even as I write these words it's painful. I want so very hard to get along with Paris---why doesn’t she like me? Perhaps she is just testing me-- to see if I am really cut out for this big city living-- and then, when I miraculously show her what I am made of, she will happily take me under her wing!
As you have probably read, a trend of less-than-fortunate things have happened to me in Paris, most notable a) the burnt hair incident b)the Paris knock down, and now c) the Popped out Jaw!! Yes, you read correctly---my jaw has popped out. Yesterday I sleepily broke out into a huge yawn which resulted in the loudest crack/snap noise I have ever heard my body make (and trust me those 13 years of dance have produced some serious cracks!).
My dentist reassured me that this is apparently quite “normal” and “common” (like sure, I should have know people's jaws aren’t made for yawning!) and I just have to “wait it out, while avoiding as much movement as possible”--which should be real easy, since what do you use your jaw for anyways??! (apart from trivial things like speaking and eating).
Before I get caught up in a full out “Why me?” rant, a la Nancy Kerrigan, I will admit that for every cloud there is a silver lining...
I do think that Paris realizes she has just been too hard on me, and has now planted a big juicy kiss on my cheek. I can’t even tell you what the reward is without smiling like a baboon (ouch, that hurts the jaw). Does the phrase “Paris Fashion Week” mean anything to you? Does the phrase “I am going backstage at Paris Fashion Week” make your heart skip a beat? Well, if it doesn’t then wise up, cause this is bloody awesome!!!!!!
