I was living "every girl's" dream. But I had yet to find my own passion, my personal project, the thing that would help make Paris mine.
They weren't tears of sadness or even tears of joy. I was just overflowing. Like so many things since I'd been here, I didn't yet understand it, but I felt it.
It's simple: Women who pick at their food hate sex. Women who suck the meat off of lobster claws, order (and finish) dessert- these are the women who are going to rip your clothes off and come back for seconds.
People grow, but they don't change.
For the record, I'm not an indecisive person, and I'm not a coward. I just have a very detailed imaginary life, and it sometimes takes precedence over what's actually happening around me.
If "Sex and the City" taught us anything, it's that Paris is the only city in the world that New Yorkers actually fantasize about.
