Paris, With Parents

  Bazaar Hôtel de Ville In the bed department of Bazaar Hôtel de Ville, Mademoiselle in charge of duvets pulls a particularly puffy one from the display of every weight – summer, autumn, Arctic – and offers a feel to Dad.  Mom, meanwhile, sits weary and collapsed...

La Séduction, Interrupted

  We sat in the salon and talked of what went wrong.  Heartbreak had happened, for sure, but Candy couldn’t convince me a love life in Paris would be that much better than the mess I left in San Francisco.  There, my boyfriend shed me like his head had his hair –...

The Miracle of Pierre

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...

Make Mine Me

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...

The Making of My Maman

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...

Not-Surfing New Zealand

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...

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