“Bonne fête!” mon mari sweetly exclaimed in a mid-morning call. Similarly, all the Frenchies I’ve crossed paths with today have been generous with their 4th of July wishes. But at the same time I dream of Cheddarwursts, first-degree firework singes and backyard barbecues.
I had a rendezvous in the 16eme this morning, in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. The most American thing I could do was point, reacquaint myself with her glory and take a proper phone pic. I assure you I wasn’t the only one.