Here's the thing about beautiful people

Well first of all, they're everywhere. "I met my husband on the metro today" is become a rusty adage worn thin with frequent use. bleh. It's overwhelming and slightly intimidating and yet simultaneously glorious to see so many beautiful people (ahem, men.) It's almost a spectacle, at least whenever I'm around. I mean really, come on, all those who have been near me in a public place know that I have a noodle neck. No, I have chronic compulsive people-watching syndrome . . . self-diagnosis. Gah, it's so bad. Scenario a: so I'd just seen this beautiful man but I had to leave him because it was my stop, and it's at notre dame rue du lorette-something or other, and we're headed toward the escalator and this guy whizzes past and he's wearing these phen-omenal glasses with this great black coat and probably some great shoes, but I whipped my head around to see him (surprised I didn't get whiplash to be honest) and he was probably weirded out and maybe flattered, not that it mattered because I won't ever see him again but still. (oh la la, the run-ons, so bad at night.)

Oh man, does this happen to everyone I wonder. I don't really think so because H&L always made fun of me. Public places are simultaneously sheer delight and sheer dread; I know that I'm gonna be tantalized by all the great people around, but I also know that I won't ever be content because I'll be looking this way and that looking so so silly with my noodle-y neck. There's just so much to see. Old churches actually are bad too. They put so many amazing details into those churches and it's like "where's waldo" only everything is what you're on the lookout for, that confusing, oh well. I would have trouble without my eyes, and other times I think that I'm grateful for only vague peripheral vision (relatively) because I'm busy enough as it is without seeing 360 degrees.

This is really a load of whatnot to reiterate that I love Paris, and 1/2 the population that lives here. Oh and by the way, I spent first night in Paris, and in heels. Yup, I waltzed around (my poor footsies, it realy wasn't waltzing at all, i just use that verb a lot, it was more trudging lightly with a plastered grin) in 4 inches. I figured I would try, but I shall be returning to flats tomorrow for the flea market. I can't wait, and I found a load of great vintage shops today. Can't wait! Mom's calling!