Canada has nice goats.

A lousy goat.

It has taken me some time to build up the energy to post since I returned from our trip to Canada. I spent almost 2 weeks with family and friends-- breakfasts, lunches and dinners were booked solid with visits. Then we came back to Paris, G had to dash off to Dublin for the week, and I found myself in a very empty apartment. Completely quiet except for the sound of me feeling awfully sorry for my sad self.
And the odd toilet flushing now and again.
Oh and that barky little dog across the hall.
Ok, alright, there was some noise, but you get what I'm trying to say.

But dude you might be saying: "You're in Paris. Get over it already. "
And to that I say: "But dudes, I'm alone."
And I can hear you saying: "But dude, if you're going to be alone, what better city to be in than Paris."
And to that I reply: "Dudes. Shut up and let a girl feel sorry for herself for one second."

And then I read a story about David and his tight shorts dilemma and all was right with the world again. You see how I am easily amused.

Unfortunately all I've got to show for my trip when it comes to pictures, is this picture of a goat named Sophie. The camera stayed safely tucked in my purse for most of the trip because I didn't want to feel like a tourist-- I wanted to just be there, in the city that I used to call home. There are pictures of family and friends of course, but it wouldn't be prudent to put those pictures up on the web for everyone to see and perhaps penetrate our international spy ring by uncovering our true identities.
And so, Sophie makes her big debut.
Boris the goat is not at all happy about it.
But he's a grumpy old fart anyway.

It will be goat-free* summer in Paris and it promises to be a good one.
Despite the threat of tight shorts.


*the absence of goats does not imply that I will not be eating goat cheese this summer. Because I will. Lots of it.