The Withering Look Chronicles (or how my days are going in Paris)
On the predawn trip in from De Gaulle airport amid a lovesick chorus of “Look France!” and “Ah, Paris” of francophillia I ask the driver “Where’s this tower thing I’ve heard so much about?”
In a cheese shop picking up a bottle of wine I ask “Is this good wine?” and get the response “But of course, it is French!” to which I respond “Yes, but so is your army.”
I make the insightful comment “If they don’t want me to pronounce the last letter why do they stick it on the end of the word?”
I ask for French toast for breakfast. I get a piece of bread toasted.
To be Continued