Le pays enchanté

Everything in France is tiny. And I’m not.

Today especially I felt as if I had swigged a “drink me” potion and was shooting upward.

Pennies are small enough that I doubt they even pose a significant choking hazard.

The little cups they give you for your café à emporter are positively dwarfed by my monster hands. Also: is it dangerous to wolf espresso like it’s a shot? It’s so irresistable!*

More like Le Petit Prince, amirite? St.-Exupéry, eat your heart out.

Most obvious is the fact that my lanky American wrists stick out a good three inches out of the cool dress I bought at a vintage store in Le Marais on Saturday. But tant pis, because its niftyness makes me look like a real fashion person and it was super-cheap.

*Judging by how chatty I became in class post-caffeine rush, probably.