I saw a family of four today. The son had an Ole Miss Homecoming t-shirt on. You do not understand how badly I wanted to say Roll Tide. Or even "go SEC". But there is something about France that makes one want to go incognito. There is no doubt that had this scene happened in Berlin or London or Hawaii or Mumbai I would have spoken up. Had a friendly conversation about The Grove, the rudeness of French people, Nick Saban, probation, etc. etc. The usual.

But I just kept my "I'm a demoralized local French girl" face on and continued to sashay down the Croisette.

doctor my eyes

I have seen things on the beaches of Cannes that no one should have to see. If you thought the Discovery Channel had shown you the saggiest mammory glands in the world, you were sorely mistaken. Sub-Saharan African mothers of 8 have nothing on baguette wielding French grandmas. Or grandpas, for that matter. I have had an unsolicited lesson in the anatomy of old men after seeing a boxer brief swimsuit on a leathery, waterlogged 90ish year old.

I feel the way about boobs now that I imagine a gynocologist to feel about vaginas.

happily ever after (every now and then)

I'm in Cannes staying at the hotel 1835. http://www.1835-hotel.com/

Working at the Jumping International de Cannes (Global Champions Tour).

The best riders in the world, the biggest yachts in the world docked right outside my hotel.
The toilet seat is heated and I have a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean.
And somehow this is all paid for. I just translate some French and do some interviews of English speakers.
I go to parties nightly and have champagne basically forced into my hand all day.

The weather is about 75 fahrenheit, windy, chopping water...
sun is setting at about 9:30 p.m.
Everyone is soaking up the sun, drinking rosé and I presume all the ladies are baring their tatas sur la plage. Will see about that tomorrow.
My last legit topless beach experience was right in this very city in 2003. With Golden and Rach, who both made me look very, very bad by comparison. It's safe to assume, however, that our drunk tour guide/bus driver- Lido - still liked it. Very much I think since he came and laid out with us. Cool.

My goal for the upcoming days is to be mistaken for a celeb. Need some sweet sunglasses. Who'd have thought I'd need shades in France. I had come to believe this place was perpetually cloudy, dreary and depressing.

A big bisous to my faithful readers.