I arrived to my new apartment, my third place of residence in three months in France, feeling kinda glum. There wasn't a bed. There were two crummy mattresses on the floor that looked about 100 years old. It was depressing.
But France is teaching me to go with the flow. I made a big shopping trip to Ikea, where I bought nifty protective coverings and crisp new sheets. I covered up the old mattresses and felt better. I didn't care that they were old anymore.
I didn't care until yesterday. Yesterday, when I became certain the mattresses have bedbugs. I itch everywhere. I know a lot about bedbugs, thanks to a heartbreaking This American Life episode about a family who couldn't shake them. I know you pretty much have to throw away the mattress to be certainly sure the bedbugs are gone.
My landlord is a bit weird, and I'm not sure he'll buy me a new mattress. He didn't even give me a bed. If I were here longer, I would buy my own. But a mattress isn't a practical investment right now. And I live on the 7th floor, no elevator, so I would have to deal with getting the new mattress up here.
I am falling into one of my I HATE FRANCE!!!!! moods, which happens semi-frequently. Why do I have to have bedbugs? Why me? I hate you France, I hate you. I hate you and your stupid French bedbugs. You are ruining my life.
When our neighbor is over for tea tonight, we talk about the bedbugs. Coincidentally, she just bought a new futon. The delivery guys are coming Saturday. They were going to take the old one. But do I want to just take it?
Saturday the bedbugs will be gone. Even though I have to sleep with them for a couple more days, I don't even care. Because I think I really like France now. It's not so bad. In fact, it's great. It's nice to have a little bit of luck.