About the Author
Carine Fabius was born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti in 1956. At the age of eight, she moved with her family to New York, where she grew up until she heard the call of Miami's warm ocean and clear blue skies. In 1986 she moved to Los Angeles, where she worked in the public relations arena and later opened Galerie Lakaye, a home gallery now 15 years old, which offers art from the Caribbean and Latin America. Ms. Fabius is involved in many creative endeavors, including running Lakaye Studio, which manufactures a line of henna body painting kits; creating a line of one-of-a-kind jewelry designs; and curating independent museum exhibits--but she enjoys writing best. She is the author of MEHNDI, the art of henna body painting and Ceremonies for Real Life. She lives in Hollywood, California with her French sculptor husband Pascal Giacomini and Tulip the dog and Dash the cat.
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Some people disagree with me on this, but I say relationships are work. That's not a negative comment on how hard it can be to maintain your sanity when you live with someone who seems bent on driving you crazy. Work is not a bad thing. Most things worth having require time, energy, patience, and a good nighttime mouth-guard for all that teeth-grinding, and relationships are no different. But my husband is French, so I feel that puts me in a special category, as in, I have special needs. Why? Although I'm happily married, I have to say that the French can be...difficult? That question mark is not indicative of a real question. It's more in line with that way we Californians have of inserting a question mark at the end of any statement because the speaker seeks your agreement? In any case, it's true that the French are special, even though I admit that the more I hear women talk about their husbands, the more it seems we're all married to a bunch of crazy foreigners.