I’m a night owl. Ergo, I’m a coffee person. I’m the kind of person who hits the Snooze button about five times in the morning, procrastinating to the most impossible limit. I’m the kind of person who wears sunglasses straight of out bed in a foolish attempt to appear like a being of undisputed human origin, thereby sparing their kids from subsequent horrible night terrors. I’m the kind of person whom you don’t talk to (and you don’t wanna try) before they’ve had several double espressos. I’ve been proudly labeled a coffee purist from the time I was 16. No cream, no sugar. Coffee’s got to be black or it’s not happening. No such thing as shades of black. I thought Kofi Annan was a new brand when first I first heard the name. Sort of an obsession, really.
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I’m an excellent driver. Really. I’ve been driving for 21 years and I’ve never gotten into an accident. With another car, I mean. I won’t count rocks or trees if you don’t. But even though I’m great behind the wheel, I’m admittedly a bit clueless when it comes to anything more complicated than an oil change. And it does get a bit complicated trying to aim the car over the pit.

To illustrate my point: I was trying to think of the word “pit” and had this conversation just now with my husband:

Me: What do you call the hole that I drive over —

Kyle: Pothole

Me: No, you didn’t let me finish. The hole that I drive over at the instant oil change place.

Kyle: You’re not going to pretend to your readers that you actually do that yourself, are you?

So with that in mind, it was no surprise that one day when I heard a thump as I was driving, I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. I quickly went over the possibilities in my head. Rock? Maybe. Pothole? Never. Squirrel? Gross. When in doubt, my motto is to keep going and pretend it never happened. So I happily did that for exactly ten more feet until KER-WHUMP.

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I like aphorisms. There’s one for everything. Let me inculcate on you one that has been invented for Parisians. I’m afraid it’s not going to be one of those overly-discussed ever-flattering clichés like the somewhat imposing Eiffel Tower, the spectacular spectacular Moulin Rouge or the overwhelmed-with-gargantuan-dog-poop cobblestones. No, this peculiar one is a much more down-to-earth view of the city; let’s talk hard, dull routine:

“Métro, boulot, dodo.”

Literally “Subway, work, sleep.”

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