Everyone has heard that Parisians can be rude and that they don’t like Americans. I’ve said before that is simply not true.
They don’t like anyone.
Though, on this trip I feel like they have softened. Is it because they are more grateful for those tourists who have come in spite of fears of more terrorism? Maybe. But I have another theory.
They do have compassion. I’ve seen strangers pick up a person in their wheelchair and carry them up a flight of stairs. I’ve seen a beautiful young lady backtrack her steps in order to hand a homeless man her own fresh pastry. And I’ve seen how they react to The Husband.
They believe he has an unnamed affliction. Why else would he take their cold stares and still smile at them? Why, but for a grave affliction, would a man joke with a Parisian shoe salesman (surely the unhappiest person on the planet) about how “sportif” his clunky American hiking shoes are and make that person laugh?
Yes. The Husband is my secret weapon.
I attended school here for 6 weeks and my best reward was when my fellow student, Ursula, invited me to go with her to a museum but she made me speak in French the whole time.
Today is David’s last day of class. He’s been in class at Atelier 9, for 4 weeks and his whole class, including the teacher and all of their friends have planned a going away party tomorrow night that has grown so big it is now being referred to as a “fête” and a “spectacle”.
Oh, they invited me, too. I wish Ursula could see me now.