Moving to Paris — The Dream vs. The Reality

At the Monoprix in Paris, even the toilet paper is adamantly mediocre
  • I would cook in my blue le Creuset pot so often it would develop a charmingly used look.
  • I would wander a new neighborhood every week, in flats, suddenly unconcerned about my low center of gravity.
  • I would learn to buy fish from the poissonnier, who would be gorgeous, fluent in English, and between the ages of 39 and 57: old enough to find me charming, yet young enough to find me mysterious.
  • It would be less European Vacation, more Midnight in Paris.
  • My husband would learn to enjoy a slow stroll through a museum instead of the 15 minute seen-that-now-where’s-the-hot-chocolate approach.
  • I would learn to carry only a tiny purse, the way the Parisian women do, and everything would magically fit into it, including my notebook, in which I would jot down all the amazing ideas I needed to remember later, all of which would eventually make it into my magnum opus.
fish at Batignolles market
fish at Batignolles farmers market in Paris

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