We just got back from 10 days in Paris and I have nothing to blog about. Yes, we were upgraded on the way back. Yes, a surprising number of twinks also rode in Air France business class (and I’m not only talking about flight attendants). Yes, we bought the latest copy of Têtu, and yes, “Chad from Portland" is cute. How’s that for French culture.
Things I learned in Paris include the fact that the Arc de Triomphe was built by Napoleon, not the Romans, and they (please don’t ask me who) built Notre Dame in the middle ages, not the, um, Renaissance. Oops.
Our luggage barely made it intact: my suitcase was the last to arrive off the plane and FHC’s 
plastic Jesus Christ severed both arms at the shoulder heaving himself off his crucifix (as told in the text of a lesser known gospel, Tristan). Fortunately, we’re back at La Casa DC, where Kevin is reminding us of Paris by playing the oboe solos from Swan Lake while FHC dances like the ballerina he always dreamed of being. The only way it could be more like la Francia is if we tie down the bulimic geese that live next door and force feed them until they really understand what the joys of eating are about.
Oh, and when does FHC get a book deal? We’re looking to fly to Paris with the rich kids in business and first because our boyfriend is one of them, not because we gave head to Gregoire in the Air France lounge.
Comments