Back From Paris

Home now. Just getting a few memories written down....

After a long day of walking and touring, we enter Notre Dame Cathedral in order to enjoy a concert of Vivaldi that was advertised. Good music and a chair to sit in sounded fantastic. The Boy Scout with metal knees and a bad foot is tired and limping. I hurry in and quietly take a seat near the back.  He catches up and I say, “Would you like to get a little closer?”  He nods, grabs his bag and then proceeds to create a small slipstream behind him as he rushes forward. I’m surprised papers weren’t following the draft he made. I felt like a grandma trying to keep up with her 3 year old grandson. 

He goes past the first and second sections. Breezes by a roped off area that has a sign that says “PRAYERFUL ONLY” and proceeds to sit his ass, front and center. A priestly mob of 5 come out and start prayers, and then a gal with a lovely voice sings in either French or Latin (not sure which). The peeps around us start responding and crossing themselves, standing and sitting, and little ole me wants to shrink to invisible. Not the Boy Scout though. He’s seemingly enjoying himself. He’s got his massive manspread that is consuming 3/4 of my leg room and half of the rather substantial bodied black lady’s next to him. He has no shame. 

It was not until they started turning bread and wine into Christ’s body and blood that I made known how uncomfortable I was. He, who has little shame, picks up his shizz, and rather noisily moves back 6 rows. Eventually, we sneak out of what turned out to be high mass and NOT a concert at all. 

We had a pretty good laugh when we got out of earshot. (Who is kidding whom? Boy Scout’s belly laugh could be heard by anyone within a football field distance)