St. Valentine's Day Massacre

Let me tell you about my Friday the 13th. It started out pretty great, as I saw this lovely lady in the window of a chocolatier (Patrick Henri). From the very back, facing the window, her ample rear makes a pretty heart-shape inside a kind of flower made by her skirts. Parisians take their chocolate seriously; while you can see chocolate sculptures in their windows all the time, holidays mean pulling out the big guns. The florists are no joke, either.

I went to class, it was fine. An Egyptian guy in my class showed a couple of us where the good falafel is located. Then I went to dinner with Scottie Christ and some of his friends.
Scott Christ is a friend of Scott Olson, my sister-in-law's brother. My own brother, being sweetly older-brother-like, asked Scott Christ to look in on me, since he lives here in Paris. We had a great dinner at Spoon off the Champs-Elysées and proceeded to a club called Bound.* Champagne flowed, everyone had a good time, and Scott chatted up the ladies (as noted on the right of this photograph*).Now faisons attention, because here's where it gets messy. I left around 1 AM, having made a good faith effort to party all night. In truth, I was exhausted and nauseous, and it turns out that I felt that way for good reason.* I had the nastiest flu I think I've ever had for the next three days. I will not give out details, but it was a dizzy, shivering, aching, vomiting hell. It goes without saying that I felt you had all had abandoned me to die alone in a barbaric land.*
I have emerged today: weak, but alive.


* Yes, I went to an actual club, and no, it was not a dungeon.
* Full disclosure: he did actually pose for this.
* No, I'm not pregnant. Bet you thought that was it, didn't you?
* I'm still a little pissed.