“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.
Shortly after I wrote my last post, I was rudely awakened by a girl on the Metro wearing American flag knee-highs and a stars & stripes bandana. My stomach turned; I knew something was terribly wrong. I completely forgot it was the 4th of July. With all the unpacking and deeply pondering how to organize my spices, it completely slipped my mind. Since I already supported my nation’s economy with my McCappuccino, that’s as patriotic as I could be.
So America, I tardily toast you today with this hot dog illustration and my 0.5 liter Coke Zero on ice. Tchin-tchin!