Oh, sweet potato! We can actually go to Paris and not have to live out of the trash cans in Charles de Gaulle (I apparently had this post-apocalyptic vision of them strapping us of all our worldly belongings and leaving us in the badly lit side of the airport). It took us 5 hours of standing around, chatting up foreigners and just sitting in silence and despair, but we made it! Not only are we allowed to leave the country (and come back), but now Ben can do anything an Italian can. I am frankly hoping he’ll take up sitting (or preferably standing) at the bar downstairs, spewing in the loudest voice all of his most inane opinions about anything/everything.

Tomorrow I have yet another interview. Carla is a hot commodity, it turns out. Soon enough I will have to hire (myself as) a receptionist to screen all of my incoming calls from adoring fans and eager employers. I feel the need for an agent coming. Also coming: my diva demands.

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