You are all aware, without my having to mention the fact on every post, that I am living the most glamourous life one could imagine. My life is sort of a synonym for glamour or glamor -- both of them if you will.
Case in point: yesterday the lock/closure/thingie on the back door broke. Need I add that I happened to be the last person who touched it? I didn't think so. These are the sorts of situations that send My-Reason-For-Living-In-France into a tizzy which includes long discourses about the fact the thing was custom-made some 35 years ago (pre-moi), the company no longer exists, we'll never find the same thing, and since the handle matches other doors everything will have to be changed to keep the theme going, and on and on.
He's a Pisces and an architect which means I am then entertained by highly technical explanations on how this major problem can (and cannot) be solved.
I suggested we simply put a large German shepherd on the inside looking out of the door and that's that. He ignored my very practical solution.
As I was saying, oh the glamor, we are now embarking on the "hopeless" search for a replacement in our corner of the world. On Monday, because we know we won't find the thingie today (even though we've scheduled lots of time to waste looking), we will hit BHV in Paris.
For me going to BHV (Bazar Hotel de Ville) in Paris -- and yes, I realize many of you love that place -- is the equivalent of a blood test when they can't find the right vein and have to resort to the one on top of your hand, except with a lot more people in attendance.
I'm now trying to pull together an appropriate outfit that will reflect my enthusiasm for the project before me. I'm thinking black-on-black hits just the right note.
P.S.: I forgot to clarify, we own the aforementioned German shepherd. In fact we have two, though I'm not sure the 14-year-old can hold up the rear guard. (Sometimes I think we know each other so well I make assumptions and forget to give you pertinent details.)