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Un Homme et Une Femme

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One of my friends once made an interesting comparison between Paris and London.

Paris, she said, is like a woman, while London is like a man. At the risk of plunging head-first into an icky pool of gender stereotypes, I’d venture to say that this is entirely true.

Paris

A harlot decked out for the night, swinging her handbag under a flickering lamppost on some dark, sullied corner in the belly of Saint Germain. Seemingly inaccessible, she teases with her pouty red mouth and her skinny, fishnet stockinged legs. The Chanel No. 5 fragrance she bathes in muddles your mind and dizzies your head, promising nights perfumed with unbridled passion and desire. She knows what she wants, and she wants you.

And she delivers. Paris, after all, is an honest, good-hearted woman.

In the morning, she transforms into a wispy maiden with sleepy eyes and wavy auburn locks, who’ll make you an invigorating infusion herbale and serve you a crisp baguette with butter and jam in bed. She’ll read you Rimbaud out loud and demand you tell her that you love her… and then refuse point blank to tell you she loves you back. But you’ll know she does. You know you’ll always have Paris.

London

Scooping you up in his warm embrace, he spins you until you don’t know where’s left and where’s right. He’s not the handsomest man on the planet, but he’s got oodles of charisma, and there’s a playfulness about him that manifests itself every time his red socks flash from under his suit trousers. He works a responsible job and never tells his secrets, but he’ll get drunk as a lord on Friday nights and then want to snuggle.

He smells like quality tobacco, and roasting coffee, and old books, and brown sauce.

London is an excellent cook. He’ll compose a symphony of a sandwich in no time flat, or spend three hours putting together the perfect Sunday roast. On a day that he’s feeling lazy, he’ll make a wicked brunch of shakshuka on toasted pita bread, sprinkled with some exotic herb. Because he knows his way around the culinary world, London does. Your heart will never be starved around this guy.

* * *

What do you think – accurate enough?

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