The backyard pardise.
The french are all about the labels.
Today I took a coup de vèlo and got greased as I was parking the bike in front of the school: my excuse for buying a new pair of jeans from h&m. (In the U.S. I thought I dressed fairly well, but in France I look like a yokel. My nine-year-old host sister is a fashion inspiration). BY the time I got around to leaving, it had started to rain and I had still 6 kilometers to ride vite vite vite. If this weather keeps up I'll be in the plus belle forme de ma vie, in spite of my generous visits to the pâtisseries, eating submarine-sized cookies.
