for whom the bell tolls.

One day the school went to visit Mt. St. Michel, and I was in a profoundly bad mood the whole time. I was tired and cranky and probably pre-menstrual, and felt fat and claustrophobic and anti-social the whole time we were there. Mt. St. Michel is a claustrophobe's worst nightmare, especially with the throngs of tourists, so despite my best efforts to get away from everyone, there were always at least two Asians and a school group breathing down my neck.

At lunch time, I rejected half of the food my host mother had packed me, throwing it

violently into a trash can as if that action alone would kick-start an era of weight-loss.

I came to regret that decision seven hours later. I was at Chastity's house, where I had been before, but now was my first time being invited for dinner. We were hanging out in her room on the third floor, and writing jokes about the phallic-looking rock they had taken us to after Mt. St. Michel, and I was trying not to think about how much my stomach was growling.

Chastity had said that a bell would ring once dinner was ready, because that's the way you do things in a house with three floors and four daughters and a host daughter to boot. So we sat and waited for the bell, and kept making up puns. These were some of our favorites:

"This is even better than Easter Island."

"Maybe God IS a woman."

"If the other megaliths represent Alexander the Great's soldiers, what's THIS?"

But not even the puns could distract me from my empty stomach.
Suddenly, I shush Chastity in mid-sentence.

"What's...."

"Shut up!!" I hiss, waving my hands frantically. It's coming from downstairs, a faint tinkling. I turn to her wild-eyed. "Is that it?? Is that the bell?"

Chastity is fighting hard to keep from laughing. "No, no, Anne. That's just Cecile playing with one of her toys."

"Auuuugh!" I moan in anguish, falling back on the bed. "This is ridiculous! I've never been so hungry in my entire life!! Don't you have anything to eat in your room?!?!"

She shrugs. "I have tootsie pops. Oh!" Her eyes light up. "And some bacardi from last weekend."

I prop myself up on my elbows and glare at her. "Bacardi is not filling, Chastity. And I have to make a good impression on your host parents."

She ponders. "Hmmm. Ok, well I know what. We can go down to the Supermarche and smuggle food into my room. I need some tampons anyway."

I'm halfway down the stairs before she's even finished talking, eyes gleaming in anticipation of the promised land; the marche

plus!!

We pause in the doorway of the kitchen as Chastity asks whether they need anything from the store. In her blundering French, she's trying to make up a story about how she's run out of contact solution and needs more immediately. The whole process takes over ten minutes and I'm beginning to contemplate gnawing on my arm when she punches me, "Ok, lets go."

"A bien tot, Anne!" from the kitchen. I pop my head in to where the host mom and her friend are seated.

"A bien tot!" From what I can see, no preparations for dinner are even being made. And it's quarter after nine. But no matter, salvation lies ahead in the form of the supermarche!

"Hoorayyyyyy!" I squeal as we slam shut the medieval gate.

"To the Supermarche!!!" Chastity punches her fist into the air. I follow suit, and we are off, sprinting through the rain toward where the neon lights beckon from down the street.

Inside, I head straight for the miniscule health food section, but Chastity makes a face. "Fiber wafers, Anne?" She wrinkles her nose, eyeing the package that I have so eagerly selected. "Come on. Puh-leeze."

My face falls. "But I like fiber wafers!"

She shakes her head. "No. No, you don't. Ok, if you come over here," she gestures to where the candy section is overflowing with brightly colored boxes and wrapped packages, "You'll see some real food." She picks out a packet of Lion bars. "Mmmmm....."

I let out an exasperated sigh; there is not much I can do, since she's the one paying for the food.

"FINE. But I'm getting some apples." I select two, one of which falls on the way to the cash register. "Ohhhh."

Chastity gloats at my misfortune and I have the impulse to kick her. This is NOT turning out to be a good night.

We smuggle the treats upstairs in our jackets, and while Chastity munches contentedly on her Lion bars I devour my apple in three quick bites. The teasing, brief moment of food serves only to make my hunger worse. And while the Lion bars would surely provide a more substantial snack, I am not about to sacrifice my diet. No matter what the cost.

Just when I have resigned myself to starvation and lie back to pray for a quick and painless death, I hear it. The faint, tinkling sound of a bell. This time, its sound is distinct, it's not my imagination, the end is in sight!!

With my last reserve of strength I launch myself off of the floor, shoving a similarly ravenous Chastity out of my way in my desperation to get to the door, and we jostle each other into the hallway, salivating like a pack of Pavlov's dogs. We charge down the stairs and skid to a halt, huffing and puffing, at the table, where the feast is laid out in all its.... its....

Mussels. The one food on the entire planet that I not only don’t like, but am actually allergic to. Typical!!! My inner voice screams. The moules are being served with a side of frites, and so with a forced smile I take a heaping portion of the latter and the smallest amount possible of the prior. I don’t dare admit my predicament to Chastity’s host parents, certainly not on my first visit to their dinner table. Instead, I suck it up. Literally. Beurk.

The irony of it all was that, as the year went on, Chastity and I discovered her family to be the most laid-back people we’d ever met in terms of meal-times and eating. The host mother, once she discovered my predilection for cereal, would always me encourage me to have some- even in lieu of what was being served on the table.

It got to the point where my place setting, instead of a plate and fork like everyone else, was a bowl and spoon. I wasn’t complaining; their cupboard boasted the best selection of cereals west of Paris. They had every kind of chocolate and frosted flake imaginable, along with hazelnut filled squares and corn puffs and muesli..... it was heavenly.

“This,” I would proclaim, happily munching on my latest compilation, fresh bread and brie to my left, Kir Royale to my right, “This is worth crossing the Atlantic Ocean for!”

To which Chastity’s host mother, beaming, would raise her glass in a toast, while Chastity invariably rolled her eyes.