I was so proud of myself. I had figured out how to live in Paris and be treated humanely, talking to the locals and getting pretty good customer service. French classes were going well. Clerks and waiters had begun addressing me in French instead of English, which means I no longer look like a tourist, and I blended in with the other Parisien ladies with my dark colors and my lofty RBF. I hadn’t been given the stink-eye in months. It took some work on my part, but Paris and I were getting along swimmingly.