Oooooh, that smell.

Paris day 2 had Mellissa and I wandering the streets sans traveling companion Deanna.  Turns out 4 bottles of wine between 3 ladies on Paris evening 1 can spell disaster for some folks.  Hard to believe "Very Pamp," the 3 Euro bottles of grapefruit (pamplemousse!) rose we were drinking, are "very pimp" the next day and just want to smack a bitch to keep her in her place.  So, we tucked in our girl and set out for some exploring.

A few little dreams came true today... stopped by Cafe des 2 Moulins, the charming little cafe where much of Amelie was filmed.  I looked in the back and could practically see her melt into a puddle.  At the Musée Carnavalet I saw with my own two eyes (who else's eyes would I see them with?  Such a weird term.) Mucha's maidens that were a part of this amazing jewelry store he created for his good pal, Georges Fouquet.  Last on the adventure list, a visit to a fromagerie where I picked up my first taste of sheep's cheese and fresh butter.  Mel grabbed a couple of goat cheeses.  Delicious obviously, but every time we open our fridge in the apartment it smells like a public toilet, or a crime scene littered with bodies that have been dead for a week, or the inside of Satan's oldest pair of sneakers.  I'm illustrating a point, and that point is, this cheese stinks like butt.  How can something that tastes like it came from Heaven smell like it came out of a diaper.  I feel like our other food and drink is being held hostage.

Enough about the stink-ass cheese.  Here's my day:

I miss my kids.  I'm dog desperate.  This will do.

Ducking into the cafe.

A few shots from the Mucha exhibit:

And finally, the evil cheese man: