She had spent the day perusing the market, nervously ignoring the stares, and the kisses being blown from the creepy produce guy at the bio stand. Vous êtes Américaine? he asked between his obnoxious whistling and taking her money for the red bell peppers that were too pretty to pass up.
“Oui, Je suis étudiant.” she said shyly, and secretly hoping that he wouldn’t ask any other questions. Quite frankly, her French is terrible and has been known to embarrass her on occasion. Commet dit-on “You are one creepy dude!” en Français? She made a mental note to look that up.
After perusing the market and the local organic store for what she hopes is nutritional yeast,
she hopped on the metro at Place Monge – bok choy, red bell peppers and way too expensive spinach in hand, and headed home to her humble abode in the 7th arrondissement of Paris to make some lunch.
Eggs again? She thought. It’s a good thing they’re delicious. Then again, she’d never turn down an opportunity to cook in French butter and eat creamy, delicious French cheese. She contemplated really embracing the French lifestyle by having a petit verre du vin rouge with lunch, but alas, the day was still young and there was much work left to be done.
She’s always loved her Wednesday’s in Paris. No class, a free afternoon…the world is her oyster on Wednesday’s. She contemplated her afternoon while staring out her bedroom window, sipping a glass of water from an old raspberry jam jar.
She procrastinated for a while, listening to some music,
She thought and she thought and she thought some more. I can’t waste a whole afternoon in Paris! she thought, feeling guilty that it was already almost 4:00pm and she didn’t have much to show for her day save for the fresh produce in the fridge, and the mysterious box of…something…written in Dutch. Or German. Or something. Whatever it was, she prayed it was the Vitamin rich, B12 nutritional yeast she had been seeking….or maybe it was that other box…perhaps the one right above the one she picked out…
She digresses. She realized that yet again, her thoughts had wandered causing even more time to be wasted. And that’s when she realized that maybe it wasn’t a waste of time. After all, she was living in Paris to study and learn and experience this new culture. Time wasted is time well spent when you are in Paris.
So, that she did. She spent that rainy Wednesday afternoon being lazy, writing bad poetry and blog posts, sipping water from jam jars, and taking pictures of absolutely nothing. Time well spent, if you ask her.
