The
setting: A bus station on a nameless street in Paris, somewhere halfway between
the Eiffel tower and Notre Dame de Paris.
Cast
of characters:
Me
[in order to maintain coherence, and because I really like my initials, I'll
call myself "J"]: euphoric that I've found healthy food in the land
of carbs and butter, eating figs and almonds with abandon.
My friends
we shall refer to as "S": the reasonable and the French-speaking one
between us.
The
Parisienne- or- "P" whereas "P" also stands for
"perfection" [spoiler alert]: the embodiment of class and
Parisian-chic wrapped up in one well-dressed woman.
J
and S, too happy to worry about petty details like the time or their flight home
are trying to figure out which bus will take them to the Eiffel tower. P is
standing about 70 cm away from them, secretly listening to their conversation.
S to P with some hesitance:
Excusez-moi, madame? Un bus de la tour Eiffel?
And
that's when J's most memorable experience in France began. P replied and then
continued to talk to S and J. Their small-talk chitchat at the bus station
developed into a guided site-seeing tour P gave the girls during the bus ride.
Nice and informative, and with a Hollywood-blockbuster-worthy French accent P
told them which building Napoleon had built for his troops and where Princess
Diana had died in the car crash. She also mentioned the museum of Fashion and
the museum of Architecture [at that moment J was ready to tear apart her plane
ticket home and just stay in Paris forever drooling over clothes and buildings
and worshiping P]. P talked about the beautiful, pastoral cafés and the
delights of people-watching. And when J
mentioned how lovely P's shoes were, she confessed how she found them on sale merely
for 20 euros.
J [to herself]: Oh dear P, please guide me through life!
The
bus stopped. P signaled to the girls the follow her, they did. P crossed the
street in a red light with the poise of a queen and the ease of a brat. P
directed S and J to the tower, wished them a wonderful day and vanished.
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