The Sharpest Toothpick in the World and Other Stories

What is this nonsense I ask you? What is it with all these controlly people on the buses all of a sudden? ... maybe there's a reason ... but I don't know it and it is therefore nonsense!

In all my public transportation experience in the past five-or-so months I have been stopped four times by public transportation controllers asking to see my "titre de transport" ... however that translates. At any rate, it's my carte Imagine R, which I give over with a bright smile each time because I know I'm not breaking any rules. Four times, right? No big ... except three out of these four times have been in the last three weeks. Perhaps the public transportation system is losing money and they must make sure everyone pays? Perhaps they simply do this at the beginning of each year to remind people that they exist and they WILL get you? Perhaps it's all in my head and not only are there no controllers but I'm not even in France and in a hospital after a horrible car crash? Who knows ...

Last Wednesday I met up with a bunch of exchange students at the Musée d'Orsay in Paris (I had to take the PAIN-IN-THE-ASS!!!!! RER line C ... I wanted to die). Oh, you know me ... art isn't really my thing except the reallyreally good stuff, and in my opinion, this museum did not have much reallyreally good stuff. Luckily we left because art is boring.

I was in a group of four exchange students (a Canadian, Taylor; a Tennessean, Krysten; and an Alaskan, Alesha) who splintered off from everyone else because the rest of the group went into a little bar/café to get something to drink, and, well, we had just had some hot chocolate. So instead we headed off to the Arc de Triomphe because Alesha and Krysten had never been there (as you may remember, me and Taylor were there the week before and we got in free by following a policeman (who saw us, by the way, I don't know why he didn't stop us) up a staircase for exiters of the Arc only). There was no policeman to follow this time, but we went up the Out Only staircase anyway because once you go ... forbidden staircases ... you never go back.

After the Arc (at which nothing exciting happened), we hung out on the Champs Elysées for a while. I got conned into giving money to a "Bosnian refugee" ... hah! I'll never be fooled by that again. Luckily I only gave her 70 centimes ... I am so angry at that lady. And we skipped up the Champs Elysées like they do in the Wizard of Oz, me singing "we're off to see the wizard..." etc etc. I think we got caught on camera. Cool! It was great fun.

Yesterday, my friends, you know where I was? A Rotary conference.

About

escargots.

That is to say, snails.

Do I now know more about snails than I've ever been curious about in my life?

Yeah.

Did I taste some?

Yeah.

Was it delicious?

Umm ... yeah! Honestly, if I hadn't known it was snail before I ate it, it would have been my last guess as to what it actually was. If I gave you a snail, and if you didn't look at it, you'd like it. I promise you. Tastes like chicken! Too bad the US has stupid rules about not bringing animaly-food-type-thingies into America. Otherwise I'd totally bring some home and trick you into eating it ... like I'm going to do with foie gras and rabbit and duck ... I bet I can find escargots somewhere.

Because I am terribly clever, I decided to keep the toothpick from which I ate my very first escargot as a souvenir. I put it in my coat pocket and thought no more of it.

Today after I ate lunch at school (which I rarely do Tuesdays), I was leaving the building and I put my hand in my pocket to retrieve my iPod so I could walk to the bus stop listening to ... what was it ... the White Stripes. In fact, my iPod turned out to be in the other pocket. You know what was in the right one? Something long and wooden and pointy ... my escargot toothpick. The sharpest toothpick in the whole world. "Aïe!" I said (that's "ouch" in French and it's so much more practical to say). The toothpick had broken my skin but I wasn't bleeding. No big.

On my way to the bus stop, my finger started to throb. I think I'm turning into a snail.

Love,
Leah