Just Pretend
The Euro is about a dollar sixty to the dollar, meaning I’m paying more than time and a half on every purchase here in gay Paree.
But WTF; I’m pretending that it’s one-to-one, that the lovely lunch with half a carafe of wine that Jen and I enjoyed with Mimi—the kid a delicious tartine with smoked mozzarella and ham, Jen, a beautiful salad with potatoes and prosciutto, and me, also a tartine, only with plain mozzarella and I tucked the ham under my uneaten greens—was only 46 bucks, no more than we’d pay at Café Presse in Seattle.
Jen said, wisely, that as long as I’m pretending, why not pretend that the Euro is just half a dollar, but that would be cheating, wouldn’t it? One can only suspend disbelief so far, and even less of a distance come next month when the credit card bills come due.
Mais, zut alors, je m’en fou!
I’m having a great time right now sitting on our balcony in the Hotel Royal Cardinale, that may actually be the very same place we came on our honeymoon twenty years ago, only with a new name and an updated lobby.
We’ve already taken a stroll around the neighborhood and the kid has already had her fill of Mom and Dad saying, “Oh look! Here’s where we used to so and so or such and such.” The upside, though, is that at least one of our old favorite patisseries is still there and the éclair au chocolat that they make is as good as ever.
Other places haven’t persisted; the little stationary store near our apartment on rue Buffon is gone; that’s where I used to buy my composition books that I’d fill with scribblings not unlike what goes on here. The difference is, back in the day, I had a lot more to say than merely 327 words.
But of course, the dollar was strong then, and talk was much cheaper.
But WTF; I’m pretending that it’s one-to-one, that the lovely lunch with half a carafe of wine that Jen and I enjoyed with Mimi—the kid a delicious tartine with smoked mozzarella and ham, Jen, a beautiful salad with potatoes and prosciutto, and me, also a tartine, only with plain mozzarella and I tucked the ham under my uneaten greens—was only 46 bucks, no more than we’d pay at Café Presse in Seattle.
Jen said, wisely, that as long as I’m pretending, why not pretend that the Euro is just half a dollar, but that would be cheating, wouldn’t it? One can only suspend disbelief so far, and even less of a distance come next month when the credit card bills come due.
Mais, zut alors, je m’en fou!
I’m having a great time right now sitting on our balcony in the Hotel Royal Cardinale, that may actually be the very same place we came on our honeymoon twenty years ago, only with a new name and an updated lobby.
We’ve already taken a stroll around the neighborhood and the kid has already had her fill of Mom and Dad saying, “Oh look! Here’s where we used to so and so or such and such.” The upside, though, is that at least one of our old favorite patisseries is still there and the éclair au chocolat that they make is as good as ever.
Other places haven’t persisted; the little stationary store near our apartment on rue Buffon is gone; that’s where I used to buy my composition books that I’d fill with scribblings not unlike what goes on here. The difference is, back in the day, I had a lot more to say than merely 327 words.
But of course, the dollar was strong then, and talk was much cheaper.
posted by Professor Dave at 6:03 AM
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