Now I know what a lot of you are thinking and no, this is not a champagne cocktail with a you know what in it for a swizzle stick.  Nor does it have any relation to cocaine or places where you could sniff the cocaine.  And it has nothing to with roosters.

Cockaigne \kah-KAYN\, noun: An imaginary land of ease and luxury.

I thought this was a fitting word to leave you all with before I hop onto my plane – at least until I can find some internet in Paris and regale you with my exploits on the other side of the pond.  I’ve promised my mother to stop, drop, and roll if any of the Parisian “greeters” come at me with their swizzle sticks, but knowing me, I’ll still find someone to make friends with.

I did debate for a moment if cockaigne was the right send-off.  My other choice of word was defenestrate (to throw out of a window), but that just didn’t seem like a good idea.  I’m already stressed about flying for 10hours.  If I were to get it into my head that I’ve given myself bad juju with a word that might cause me to tossed out of an airplane window, I’d have a nervous breakdown.  After a good six or seven hours of me complaining about how I can’t sleep, Sam would do it.  I know he would.  And that’s why I went with cockaigne.

Cockaigne.  I can’t wait for the dreadful 10hour flight (where I’m stuck back in coach with a man who might defenestrate my poor cramped body somewhere over the Atlantic) to be over so I can land in a cockaigne made for fashion-loving, word-crazy, croissant-addicts like me.  Cockaigne.

And I’m off…     


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