Paris (not Hilton):

So I back in Florence.

Paris was amazing.

I went to a Matisse exhibit and visited the Catacombs. I gazed stupidly at the Eiffel Tower and sat and listened to a little old accordion player outside Notre Dame. I sat by the Seine. I strolled a couple of the city's famous gardens (in one I saw these beautiful purple and gray super-sized dove-looking birds, they were so bizarre -- I thought I was having a staring contest with one but it turned out it was just taking a giant shit), which are unbelievable. I bought new jeans at H+M, a few new CDs and the newest (in paperback) Harry Potter book as well as an older Jonathan Franzen book. I had crepes (one sweet, on savory) and a sandwich on a toasted baguette.

I bought time at an internet café so I could order a new messenger bag.

I do all my web-shopping in Paris.

My flights were interesting. I was reeeally early for my first flight from Pisa to Rome on Friday. As soon as I checked in, got to the gate, and sat down, I noticed these two adorable Indian kids. They were like three and five, and they were just walking around with a balloon, whatever. A minute later their mother came over from the bar with these three massive pastries -- a jelly-filled dough-nut-looking thing the size of a scooter tire and two filled croissants dusted with confectioner's sugar. The trio ate the pastries, and then all hell broke loose.

I've never seen sugar so profoundly affect anyone. The kids were on a high I can't possibly give justice to in mere words. They were running around like hellions, screaming, ricocheting off people, laughing, jumping, popping balloons, harassing their mother (and annoying everyone) -- the younger was practically in one of the trash cans at one point while the older one kept ping-ponging into knees and furniture.

SO GUESS WHO I GOT TO SIT NEXT TO!

That's not even the best part. I actually was next to the mother in the window seat, and the two kids were across the aisle (it was a two seats, aisle, two seats, propeller plane). Well, the littler kid wanted a window seat, too, so the mother asked me if I would mind switching. At first I was like, 'oh, fab, now I get to sit between Terror 1 and his mother and Terror 2', but I obliged.

Thank the lord in heaven I did because as soon as the plane took off the mother literally turned green and started throwing up into a little blue towel she desperately pulled out of her carry-on (she probably carries the thing around expressly for this purpose).

Why would a person use the sealable, reek-proof, waxen, complimentary barf-bags when you can vomit into a scrap of terrycloth and splatter it all over your pink, sari-ish pant suit?

The rest of the flight involved her ignoring her children and hiding under a magazine (until it started all over again as we began our descent).

The other three flights were wonderful, though. I got upgraded on the return trip and they served us ice cream sandwiches (even though I got to the Paris airport 25 minutes before take-off because Genius got on the wrong train (actually a blessing because I got to skip all the massive lines))!