Our Thanksgiving plans include frantically scrubbing down the house so as not to gross out The Boy who is coming to see 1 of 8 over the turkey holiday.
One of my brothers has some slightly more, ah, cultured plans.
As in, he's taking his family to France.
They are the cool ones in the extended family line.
No offense, Other Brother.
But we gotta admit, Middle Brother got the cool going on with the French Thanksgiving and all.
Although I still say that Thanksgiving '05 when Other Brother and family and Mike and I and the kids grilled steaks on the island was pretty cool as well.
So 6 of 8 hears of the French Thanksgiving plans and that her cousins will be going all continental on us.
"Oh," she breathes. "They are going to France. I've always wanted to go to France."
She's six years old. Six. And apparently she has wanted to go to France her whole life.
"I so badly want to go to Paris. It's my favorite city in the whole world."
Next to Dallas, apparently. Because the last time we were in Dallas, she told me she was a Dallas Girl.
"Paris. I wish I was going there."
I ask her why she would want to go to Paris.
She looks down her nose at me and says, "The food. The food is amazing. Paris has the best food in the world." She says this as if I am a cretin.
And how does she posses such epicurean knowledge at such a young, tender age, you might ask? How does she know that all her life she has wanted to dabble in the culinary delights of Paris?
By watching Ratatouille, of course.
Cultured, we is. Cultured we aim to be.