Prior to class, I sat in Starbucks eavesdropping on a trio of fashion students. They had an assignment in which they had to design a themed line to coordinate with the professor's previous lines. They had terrible ideas and I couldn't help but to contribute.

For class we went to le Musée Carnavaly, or the museum for Parisian history. They have so many interesting things, including two rooms of shop signage.

We patroned a café during our break. In the café was a rather large un chien café. He adorably sat up in the chair next to mine, reminding me of my recent dreams. Essentially, I am going to have to get a dog when I return to the States.

Hopefully a Figment of My Overactive Imagination: There is an issue with weight control in this city. Granted, one sees a lot of professional models, but there are a lot of incredibly skinny women. In Starbucks, one woman seemed absolutely nauseated by her coffee cake (maybe it was because she realized she had spent 4€ on it). I have also noticed that in the cosmetic departments at stores and in local pharmacies, there are aisles and aisles of weight-loss products. How they can afford these products after buying their luxury-grade purses and shoes I have no idea.

To further support this claim, ma mère tells me every day that the foods I eat will make me fat. Apparently orange juice is not on the list of approved foods provided by her e-nutritionist. Perhaps this is why cigarettes are so popular.

Maybe this has something to do with the fact that people-watching has become a national past-time. I have observed that both couples and friends sit next to, rather than across from, each other in cafes. This makes it easier to not only view the passerby, but to also talk about them.

Then again, I also thought that the French were uncommonly image-conscious because they often check out their reflections in shop and restaurant windows. I have since found an explanation to justify these actions: The average diet consists of a lot of salad and red wine, yet there are rarely any mirrors in the bathrooms.

On a lighter note, for dinner we had veal (I had to ask) and for dessert, du gateau de pomme.

Song: Cat Stevens - Here Comes My Baby