I'm going to Paris with someone I met on the internet. That's how desperate I am to go to Paris with someone as fascinated with French history as I. My mother used to warn me about getting into cars with strangers and, though I was a teenager when it was commonplace to "thumb," or hitchhike, I've always had a healthy fear of (and unhealthy interest in) serial-killers, and didn't have to be told twice. And, now, here I am meeting a complete stranger in Paris. I think her husband (accomplice?) is going with her. They live in Maine. Or so she says. My new friend won't be a complete stranger by the time the trip rolls around. One of the several things we have in common is that she has a cousin that lives near me. She'll be visiting her today, providing us the opportunity to meet at Black Walnut. What could possibly go wrong at Black Walnut? I'm sure she's completely legit and I'll tell you all about her later.
I wonder how much it costs to fly un chien across the ocean on Air France. Wouldn't Keeper be an adorable accessory? He'd be completely welcome there, too. Paris loves dogs. Unlike Black Walnut, but that's another story. The one black mark, long forgiven, on my relationship with my favorite restaurant.
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