It’s been brewing for a couple of days; a tingling beneath my skin longing to be touched. Today, it is a fever. So lost in thoughts of tangled limbs and rumpled bed sheets that I can barely see straight. As I type, I remind myself to breathe to hide how wound up I am. And I am SO wound up.
We French are not as fiendish about finding shortcuts as Americans are. Perhaps that is why we are no longer a great power, but the trade-off is we are not fat.
– Mireille Guiliano, French Women Don’t Get Fat.