I’m in love.
I mean…aside from the obvious. Don’t tell Nick, but I think that I might be through the whole “rejection” thing. I have a fiancé, a puppy, a wedding to plan, and I live in Paris. I mean…Jesus.
It’s not all wine and chèvre, obviously. People feel absurdly entitled to comment on how we’re raising our puppy, for one thing. “She’s tired,” they chide when she has seated herself firmly on the pavement right outside of our door after sleeping for three hours.
She is not tired.
Nor is she “too hot” when she stretches out in the grass just after I’ve finished giving her water. She’s just a baby, and she’ll get past it.
She is not too young to be in the street, and she is allowed to play with other dogs (as long as they are fully vaccinated). I checked with our vet, so just keep it to yourself, okay?
“People here love dogs,” explained Kristina, a Slovakian woman who moved here from London, and now cares for a male Jack Russell who obviously is in love with Jolie (a.k.a. “jailbait”). “They do not care so much about children. But cute dogs–and you are lucky you have a cute one, because no one would talk to you with an ugly dog–cute dogs are the way to make friends in Paris.”
Understand that about two minutes after this speech, she asked to exchange phone numbers. So it’s obviously true.
Because of Jolie, the hairdresser around the corner whom everyone recommends calls out greetings to me every time I walk by, even though I have yet to get a haircut in Paris (our pharmacist’s dog-walker insisted on introducing us, while I did my best to hold onto an incredibly hyper Jolie).
Speaking of which, someone asked Nick this morning if this was his first dog in Paris. I mean, what the hell kind of a question is that? She proceeded to give him a number of tips, including “Hold her when you bring her into stores; don’t just let her run on the floor.” She says this not because it is beyond obvious, but because not everyone abides by even this lenient principle.
Dogs are allowed everywhere. Technically, you cannot bring them into any place that sells food, but I walked into our favorite bakery earlier this week to see a poodle racing around (on a leash, though–obviously a generous concession on the owner’s part). They are forbidden in the open-air markets, but they are equally omnipresent there.
We practiced getting over our American-ness today. We brought Jolie into a hardware/homegoods store (where the owner gave us a knowing look when we bought high-grade carpet cleaner). Reeling from that experience in indulgence, we cautiously brought her into an electronics store. I nearly fainted when a red-vested employee walked our way, but she didn’t even bat an eyelash at the puppy in Nick’s arms.
And although running around with her has reactivated the hideous ankle injury I sustained while getting up out of a chair four years ago, and taking care of her has started Nick and me arguing about who does what around the house in a way that we never have before, this moment is one I would trade for nothing.
Please note that when I say that, I do not mention which moment.
This is a life to love.