I Love You For The Man You Used To Be

No, that has nothing to do with this post. It has to do with Me and my relationship with Mousse. She's changed.

Oestrogen.

It's not for everyone.

On a brighter note, we are presently sitting in a bar/café with internet (the wireless kind, boys and girls. Yep, that's right. Livin' large in the CITY OF LIGHTS.) sipping expensive wine and watching the inspiring profile of Frank. Confused? Well, you're not here, are ya?

Snapshot from walking down Our Beloved Street earlier today:

"This must surely be the new bohemian quarters? I mean, it looks cheap, kinda dirty, lots of struggling artists, us included..."
"Yeah. Apart from Monoprix and all the halal butchers this is so turn-of-the-last-century Paris."
"Oh yeah."
"Yeah..."

Otherwise it's been quite an eventless day if you discount Mousse completely ruining her chances at working in a fantastic soup & juice bar (what a combination! Am I right people?...person? anyone?) by saying she wasn't sure if she could take a soup and juice order in French... in French. Meanwhile, I sat terrified and trembling in the bed after the stress of someone actually calling... What if they had wanted to speak to me? It's a terror I'll never forget...

I needed cookies, and cookies I had. It all ended well.

Another damn good day in the CITY OF LIGHTS!