It is a new year, and 2010 is finally behind us. It has been approximately one year since this whole blogging (mis)adventure began, and I would just like to take this moment to thank you, dear readers, for being a part of this self-indulgent exercise — this slightly misguided attempt at self-therapy.
There have been a number of signs that this year is already looking up, the least of which is the fact that my nail polish has managed to last over a week without chipping. As I attempt to reassimilate back into my normal Paris life after an extended holiday, and as jetlag continues to make me its bitch, I’ve had some time to organize my shoe collection, inventory my socks, re-hem most of my trousers, sew on all those fallen button soldiers of 2010, and reflect seriously upon the past year.
I’ve come to the realization that I’ve learnt next to nothing about dating, love or relationships in Paris.
Fortunately, I have managed to learn quite a bit about myself during my man-shopping endeavors:
- I am not smooth. I should not even try to be.
- I have what may constitute a legitimate obsession with both the male posterior and my own butt.
- I attempt to fill the emotional empty spaces in my life by indulging a borderline unhealthy gym habit.
- I should not drink and date.
- Even though I am not any more or less crazy than the average unhinged female, I am, by any standard, pretty odd.
Right. So none of this is particularly groundbreaking. None of these revelations is even useful, as I will likely continue to bumble around Paris and get into awkward situations despite any newfound wisdom that I may have picked up along the way.
I haven’t yet concocted any concrete strategies to implement for 2011, but I am working on it. Don’t worry, Man-shopping readers, you will be the first to know about any cockamamie schemes that may come to mind.
Bonne année à tous.