Paris was a woman? This bitch!

... back from Paris, still in a train... and everything's different. Not everything. But a lot of things. No, I didn't fall in love with this bitch blasé. While I was the one and responsible person on the bus during the four previous days, the mature female mate in Düsseldorf and still the good-looking girl to go out with in Belgium I felt like an awkward child in Paris. Of course my cloth weren't expensive enough for our 5-star-hotel, but did they have to call me fillè? On the other hand – hey, I'm gonna be 30 in a few weeks and those professionally trained eyes adress me still as underage. Hihi. Compliment? Dunno. But not this bad.

I started reading "A Year In The Merde" by Steven Clarke, and it seems to me like the motto to my trip. Well, I didn't get this far - I am not an sexual frustrated male brit abroad, so I don't get the humour in all of his flirting accidents, but the rest seems right to fit to my situation in this strange metropolis as well.