The French Holiday

Chapter 2

This chapter song is These Days by the Wallows. You can also listen to Paris by Sabrina Carpenter towards the middle of the chapter ;)

A pigeon was staring at me. Like there it was, bulging little eyes and all, staring intensely at me from right outside our hotel room's window.

Ok pigeon, staring contest is a go.

"Hurry up Mae, so we can get something to eat" my mom ushered, forcing me to look away from this strange intruder.

"I just have to change"

I opened my suitcase with a loud clunk, it's contents spilling out onto the carpet. It turns out that packing everything into neat little rolls and folds just like Pinterest had suggested was completely useless.

Damn Pinterest boards.

I fished out an outfit that I had pre-planned, thank you Beauty Blogger Number 278, and rushed into the bathroom.

"Ok Mae, today's mission is to blend in" I told myself out loud as I tried to comb through my knotted, curly auburn hair "There's no way you're looking like a tourist in this amazing city"

-0-

15 minutes later...

I was ready.

I simply finished up my eyeliner, which I wish I could pretend I was a natural at, but it was a must in order to accentuate my standard brown eyes.

I gave my ootd one last look; I was wearing white-heeled mules with a checkered print mini skirt and a tight white crop, all of this gorgeousness topped off with a beret that I had bought at a little kiosk in China town.

It was the "frenchest" outfit that I could come up with and I dearly hoped all those weeks of reading stupid travel fashion magazines had paid off.

"Ok, parents. I'm ready to-" I opened the bathroom door, but was cut off by a sudden gag reflex "What are you wearing?!"

I coughed from the sudden urge to spit up the plane's shitty breakfast "I thought I told you to blend in"

"This is blending in, honey. Plus it's incredibly practical, don't you think?" my mom buzzed, showing off her outfit.

I could only stand there, mouth agape. Seriously, in which parent guidebook was it made a rule to create teenage angst by wearing horribly embarrassing outfits...somebody had to sue the author.

My mom was ok, I guess. I mean she had decided to top off her "sporty, I'm a mom who goes to the gym" look with some neon sketchers flex foam that practically screamed Payless and a classic little Fanny pack that moms somehow manage to fish out of a bin at Marshall's.

My dad though...let's just say he missed a couple decades. He had decided to wear a pair of classic early 2000s sunglasses. You know the ones that look like shaded out googles that stick to your face at an awkward angle? Those. And on top of that, he had applied a generous amount of sunscreen on his nose that I could swear would outlast the sun itself.

Ringgggg

"Oh thank god, it's the fashion police calling!" I thought as I answered the call on my phone.

-Hello?

-Jesus, Mae. Thank god you're alright!

-Why wouldn't I be Val?

-Well, you left me on "seen" like an hour ago!

-So?

-Have you ever seen the movie "Taken"? Well it's about these two girls that get kidnapped and sold off as sex slaves on their first day in Paris! I thought...