Brambles, the most ruthless and cruel of all garden evils. Growing faster than a boy in puberty, they twist and twirl themselves around their victums, trapping them with their teeth-like thorns. Their goal: kill any and all springtime beauty that has yet to blossom. They must be stopped.
I, and only I, have been chosen for the job. Armed with a pair of shears and a strong distaste for brambles, I set out. It is not long before I am face to face with the most gruesome bush my eyes ever did see. Taking a deep breath, I plunge into the shrubery; chopping my way through the deadly thorns, carving a path to the "root" of the problem. After minutes of chopping, a light breeze blows through my hair and I realize something is missing...my hat! Looking back I see it lifelessly hanging from a prickly branch. My stomach drops; a part of me is screaming "go on without it!" Leave my cute, saggy beany behind? Never.
I quickly retrieve it and continue plowing my way through to the roots. After what feels like a lifetime I face the knarling Brample mothership. With no time to waste, I take up my rusty pair of shears and with all my might whack at the stems. Once all have been severed I glance up at the laberynth of filthy weed above me and take a firm grip and hurl myself out of the bush, taking my enemy with me.

So besides letting my overly active imagination run wild, the last few weeks I've been working slash living at a 400 year old chateau in central France. It is owned by a couple of Scorpio (yes, I asked) British lawyers, Patrick and Collette. They have 3 darling children, Eve (14), Agnes (7), and Gilberto (3). Patrick has been away the past few weeks on buisness so it has just been the 5 of us. Collette is awesome. She is an incredible cook, a great mom and a fun companion. The day I arrived we established that we both love ourselves a good costume drama and wine. Every night, we indulge in both and it has become a lovely tradition. The kids are really great. Eve is pretty funny but really makes me happy I am no longer a teenager. Agnes is, perhaps, the sassiest 7 year old I have ever met but seems to really like me. Gilberto...OH Gilberto. Crazy cute kid; says some really funny things. For example, the other day he was telling me all about this thing called a "pinky poinky." When I asked him what this so called "pinky poinky" looks like he just looked at me and said "Well, it looks like a pinky poinky of course." As cute as that was about 3 minutes later he got something in his eye and screeched for about 15 minutes in my face as I tried to help him sort it out. Conclusion: I am in no way ready for children. The family speaks english at home, so no, my french has not improved. Whatev. OH also, I have my own room that has the prettiest floral wallpaper AND my own full bathroom.

I suppose it is important to inform you that I am hideously happy here. Everyday I go for a walk around the country that surrounds the house and I oft find myself just smiling the whole time. Spring has come early and the weather is soft and warm. There are little yellow butterflies flitting about to compliment the rolling green hills. I feel like I've fallen in love with life. Yesterday day I just layed in the middle of a massive green field and thought about effortless things like friends that make me laugh and my favorite types of cake. I'm so in love with life that I occasionally let myself fret about how horrible it would be if it were to leave me. My time here is furthering my theory that it is impossible to be unhappy in a beautiful place.
Anyways, I told Anges that I would help her catch lizards. Little does she know that I have zero intentions on touching any reptile.