Henry and I keep going through weird food cravings.  I swore to myself that after Spain there would be no more bread for me, but then I remembered we were in France so…that didn’t work out too well.  But aside from tacos, I think what we both missed most was brunch.  And by brunch I mean a huge plate full of eggs and bacon.

We found a diner called “Breakfast in America” and were sold by their promise of bottomless coffee.  They certainly delivered and in silence the two of us absolutely demolished our plates and even ordered a single pancake after we had finished for good measure.


Contentedly stuffed, we wandered over to Shakespeare & Company, the bookstore which was equally as delightful as our big American breakfast.  The place is tiny, with doorways too small for more than one to pass through and books filling every crevice (but in an organized way so that mostly I felt like I was in Heaven and not a hell for people with OCD).  We split up and spent a good amount of time browsing, adding books to our already extensive “to-read” lists and soaking it all in.  I could have happily sat with a cup of coffee and stack of books in one of their upstairs reading nooks and never left, but, alas…


I, personally too cold to stay outside and peruse,  walked next door and got some more coffee and was enjoying the view of Paris outside my window before Henry joined and we decided what our next move would be.  We made our way back to the game store from the day before and Henry bought a gorgeous travel chess set before we split off with promises to meet back up again later that afternoon.


I hate that I don’t speak any French.  I feel not only guilty, for being that American tourist who can’t say anything besides “hello” and “thank you”, but also really nervous not being able to navigate on my own.  Also, I sadly noticed, when I walk without Henry, I have to deal with a lot of winks, shouts and unwarranted comments from random men.  Aside from the one creepy dude at the hostel in Valencia who spent the better part of an hour sitting across from me and staring while I pretended to work on my computer, I’ve spent the last month and a half almost entirely unbothered.  But walking alone in Paris today I was reminded of what I’ll be coming home to—the unfortunate reality of being a woman in cities where men don’t know how to be men.

Needless to say, the combination of the aforementioned woes had me in a weird funk and we stopped to get window crepes before walking around the city having what Henry later referred to as “grumpy down time” before stopping to eat dinner.

We spend the meal talking about the to-do lists that are swirling around in our heads for our upcoming return.  Conversations about head shots, healthy habits, new plays and monologues, theatre politics in Seattle… It’s clear that we’re both ready to be back and getting back to work.  Soon.  Until then we’ll be eating more crepes and making more lists.

(a small dedication to Patti Smith and Chelsea Martin: my two ladies following me around Europe)


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