Worlds away in a Paris pet shop, true love awaits The phone buzzed in its foreign French way, buzz-buzz, buzz-buzz. “Allô?” “I had to put Terrence down.” It was my brother George, calling from San Francisco. The pain in his voice, the disbelief, traveled...
Her cups runneth over so she took the girls on tour My sister showed up the other day with a new set of breasts. Bouncy breasts. Rounded breasts. Breasts that aim dead ahead with the resolve of a heat-seeking missile. And I don’t get it. This is a woman so...
Who was this chic, seventy-something woman the author once called Mom? It started, as these things do, without a lot of hoopla – my mother and I arriving at Place de la Concorde during our first-ever trip to Paris. The day was dazzling, and jet lag had us woozy...
If only love were as simple as the sea My guy Michael is an avid surfer. Crazed, actually. His boards (one long, three short) are festooned like fine art around the house. His wetsuits (a selection) are arranged with reverence in the closet, a rubbery...
You don’t have to be born French By most accounts, I look okay. My style, such as it is, mainly impresses the world with a mild, she’s nice. Yet I had been in Paris mere weeks when Madame de Glasse, the French neighbor with whom I am friendly, announced...
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