France in my pants
Greetings, friends and family, from Paris!
Amsteram was a blur, as it tends to be. For a place where pot and mushrooms are legal, the staircases are dangerously steep. It’s as if they’re trying to off the tourists. The four sets of stairs that led to our top floor room seemed to get steeper over time. The room was beautiful, and it came with a mosquito that politely avoided my lovely bride and concentrated on me. It’s a sacrifice I’m happy to make. I’m a husband now.
The train ride from there to Paris was even lovlier than I remembered. And now we’re here in Paris, in the land of pretty people in tight clothes, where the buildings are old, the mannequins have nipples, and the keyboards are frustrating. I never knew how good a touch-typist I was until all the keys changed places. These people have to hit three keys just to make an “@”! It’s amazing anyone sends email at all. Do you think it says something about the French that it taks two keys to make a period, but only one to make an exclamation point?
Anyway. We’re here and having a great time. Except for when we try to type. If you wanna follow along, Heather is posting phonecam pics on Flickr.