When the telephone screamed for Elisabet, calling her from the bowl of porridge and its fortress of vitamins (all organic and natural, of course), I leaned closer to my yaourt and müesli, praying for the sake of the person on the other line that it was not a sales call. “Ah hallo Margarite!” I relaxed, finishing breakfast just as the dry sweat from the morning run sent my body into shivers. Shower.

It’s difficult to conclude a hot shower when I know it’s the most thoroughly warm I’ll be until tomorrow’s hot shower. After summoning up the courage to turn those two knobs tightly to the right (mostly the one with the red dot), the next two battles included stepping out of the steamy chamber and stepping into freshly washed, thus freshly wet, underwear. 

Now, I have 30 minutes before venturing again into the cold sun for a rendezvous with a Texan. At least there is sun…and Texans…Regardless, it’s only 51ºF in Paris today. For the sake of survival both indoors and on the street, I must surrender to a magasin of manteaux.