Paris is not Nashville.
In Nashville, when people see you point a camera in their direction they do this:
I miss you, Nashville!
In Paris, when they see you point a camera in their directon, they do this:
Yeah, that’s a hairy eyeball.
And at my house, when you point a camera in the backyard, you get this:
This is me, at Parnassus Books in Nashville, last Saturday — Bastille Day — yakking about Le Road Trip:
The author takes a minute to familiarize herself with her own book, in front of a bewildered audience.
I hope nobody noticed my crappy Gap trousers that I had to wear because I forgot to pack my dressy grey [...]