Made it to Las Vegas without incident. Upon arriving the boys were telling me they would have to sneak me into the hotel, only enter one at a time and if someone asks I am their cousin. I asked why we had to be so secretive and they told me they were afraid all of the hotel staff might recognize that I did not check in with them and would ask for my ID. I convinced them this would not happen – which surprised them because hotels in France always do such things. Sure enough, the staff couldn’t care less that I was with them.
Having the good fortune of spending two days with two incredibly fit, sexy and ‘youthful’ French men definitely makes me think I’m living right. Right now for sure.
We met up with thier flight crew for breakfast and then a group of ten of us made our way to Lake Mead for a barbecue and JetSkiing. The temperature was about 105 degrees and we had the national park picnic area to ourselves. It was at this moment I realized national parks in Las Vegas are only truly frequented by Internationals. I was enjoying the barbecue and the conversations being shared when one of the pilots asked, “Do you understand what anyone is saying?” “No, unfortunately, not a word.”
One thing I did understand, and that Sleepless would appreciate, is they brought two magnums of White Zinfandel, and a make-shift cooler to chill them, to accompany the food. “Wine and bread (motioning to the loaf of Italian bread), it is not a French meal without them.” Having French people there also helps.
As the trip progressed there were a few times when Maverik Midget King and BD told me, “From now on we speak only French – then you must learn.” “Hmmm, oui.” I would then wait until they forgot about this request and started speaking to me in English again.
As I was getting ready to bid them farewell, “À bientôt,” one of them farted. “Did you just fart?” I asked BD. “Yes, I did, but it is a French fart, very different.” “You stink,” I told him. “Only in French,” he replied.