The incompatibility of flats and certain cuts

Having already walked a couple miles at the Parly 2, we changed our clothes to a jacket with a tie, and a dress (the former for me while my wife chose the latter) before going to the temple open house. It was about 3/4 of a mile from our hotel. I had used Google Earth Street View several times prior to our arrival in France to learn the route. Of course, the route looked nothing like the route that I had learned on the computer. Actually, it was quite similar; the difference was in my memory. I used my phone to plot a route, and we followed it...except for when I thought I could see a shortcut that coincided with the route of my memory. Long story short: cuts are like bobs--like Rachel from the airport's hair (is that even correct? Does airport get the possessive when it's Rachel's hair we're talking about? Maybe it should be: like Rachel's hair from the airport; but that makes it sound like she got her hair from the airport, which although improbable, could be true; maybe it's part of the uniform and she has to check it back in everyday). My point being that there are short bobs, medium bobs, and long bobs; it's the same with cuts. This one was not of the short variety. We quickly realized that and returned to the original route. Just another stealthy Maxwell Smart maneuver on my part; we weren't being followed. I didn't mind the slight detour...but I wasn't wearing paper-thin flats (shoes, that is, not British apartments). Did I mention that my wife was wearing flats? She reminded me that her shoes had almost no padding, and no arch support at all. I'm not sure why I should be held responsible for the poor design of women's shoes. It is just possible that my accountability related not to the shoe design, but to the luggage, or lack thereof, upon which I had insisted. Had we brought luggage, my wife could have packed more, or at least different shoes for the trip. But as my Uncle Kenneth once said, "My shoulders are broad. I can carry the blame." I find it's often easier to bear the blame than the pain and inconvenience from which the need to blame springs.

At the temple, security had to check the contents of my wife's small purse--I had instructed her to leave her C4, detonator, throwing knives, and morning star at the hotel (Of course I jest; those were taken from her when we had boarded the first plane--and now we're probably under investigation just because those words have turned up in proximity on the internet). We were given clear plastic bags into which we put our metal objects. I had already acquired a copious amount of change; my clear plastic bag made the rest of the trip with me as my change purse...and provided additional amusement for the natives when I pulled it from my pocket in search of one euro pieces and centimes.

The temple was fabulous. (Here are pictures).I spoke with a French gentleman who reminded me that we all had had our part in bringing a temple to France. We went with a French speaking group for the tour. The entire edifice is beautiful. I was most struck by the stained glass windows in which the sky blue was prominent, but also adorned with the white, green, and yellow of the fleur-de-lis. With the assistance of a lovely sister missionary from Soissons, we had our picture taken together by a large image of the temple at the end of the tour; the photograph was immediately emailed to us.

We had hoped to meet some friends at the temple. We waited for a short time but never saw them...we would see them after further adventures.

We had had a delicious breakfast, braved the grocery store and escaped without having to put out anyone's eye, and we had thoroughly enjoyed the temple open house. It had already been an awesome day, and all before noon. We walked directly back to the hotel (omitting all cuts, long, short, and otherwise) where we had a snack, changed clothes (and shoes) in preparation for our walk to the palace.

View from our hotel in the general direction of the temple: