Gay Paree

I was in Paris the other day.

And because I really enjoyed that sentence, I will say it again. With more nonchalance.

I was in Paris the other day.

Standing by the roadside. Minding my business behind my shades. The glasses from Hades. You know, burnt black. There were a lot of pretty girls around. I get tapped tapped on my shoulder, and an arm is snaked through mine. It is a feminine arm.

Hot damn!

I whip around to count all of three teeth in the wizened old crones widely grinning face.

Damn.

She rasps something out in French. It is all Greek to me. We parry (Paree, get it?) around for a while. She finally takes matters into her own hand and hobbles across the road, dragging me along for support. I had the dubious honour of being selected to escort her across the wide open spaces of the Boulevard St. Germain.

Double damn.

I did get a peck on the cheek out of that. Of the three toothed variety. Does it count?