So Paris is basically London but with more curlicues. This is what we know now.

And what else did we learn?

1. They speak French there. This is important, so I’ll say it again in italic. In France, the people speak French. It may not seem like privileged information, but no one had quite put it that way to Greg-the-Husband, who I believe thought that pretending that they wouldn’t speak English was a sort of affectation. Mais non (but no) it appears that they are somewhat serious about this one. This led to all kinds of merriment, especially when we consider …
2. Special orders do upset them. So when Greg and I chose to patronize ze McDonald’s (the McDonald’s) and Greg wanted them to combine Sauce 1 with Burger 2 while leaving off every other worthwhile element of Burger Accessorizing (a Gregorian specialty), and then responded to their difficulties by making the order more complicated and saying it faster, it didn’t go well and Greg pronounced the entire country “horrible”. I don’t know what other wives do when things like this happen. I respond by getting very Edith Bunker and flapping my hands around a lot, though I’m secretly thinking that a swift kick to the husband would solve many problems.

And I would say more, but jet lag has suddenly kicked in, so I’ll have to pick this up tomorrow.