"Where am I going?" she mumbled to herself, now that her full entourage of bagsencircled her. "These Frogs better--""Kimberly!" A fifteen-year old boy, gangly and red-faced, jumped up and down,waving a poster at the specimen of American processed beauty. It read, "Welcomto my countrie, American princesse." Running toward her on stork legs, he wasteenage over-enthusiasm for the opposite sex incarnate. Just imagine the Frenchversion."Hey, Pierre," Kimberly muttered as she laid her carry-on luggage on the marbledlinoleum by its larger comrades. It was pathetically small in comparison, rattlingwith a spare charm bracelet, a book on dieting techniques from across the world,three bottles of iridescent nail polish, a still-in-the-shrinkwrap pocketFrench/English dictionary, an owl keychain that no longer hooted when yousqueezed it, a monogrammed pen with a Tudor rose design, a My Little Ponynotepad, several packs of gum, old mascara, and sparkly lipgloss.The boy put his poster down and frowned a little. "My name is Luc, not Pierre.""Oh." Kimberly snapped her blueberry gum. "You sure?" She pulled out her MyLittle Pony notepad and scanned through all her scrawling. Everything from a listof planned make-over steps to the breeds of her host family's tropical fish wasthere."
I mean, yes. Of course, it is...my name.""I'm joking," Kimberly bursted, as she shut close the notepad, "I mean, I'm tired,but I wouldn't forget the name of someone who's emailed me twice a day for thepast four months. Humor. Duh.""Ah." Luc crumpled the poster a little as it swung by his knees. "I do notunderstand." The poster now sagged pitifully inward, mimicking Luc's fallenposture."Don't take yourself so seriously. You'll hate yourself in twenty years."