I AM 27 GOING ON 15....

So on Saturday night Petite Johnnie and I met up with a Swedish guy, Daniel (they met in South America a couple of years ago) and his gorgeous French girlfriend Julie. After dinner at their apartment, we went to the corner shops to get booze to take to a party. The Parisians call these shops l'Arabe de coin (or Arab Corners) as most of the shops are run by Muslim people. Just one more charming example of how racist Paris really is.

Anyway I am paying for a couple of bottles of wine when the guy grabs my handbag and starts opening it. I'm thinking hes checking to see if I stole anything, but no, he starts stuffing the wine into my bag and garbling in French. After he points to a sign, I realise that in that particular area (Saint Michel, which has lots of bars) you cannot sell alcohol after 9pm. Bizarre! So I spent the rest of the night weighed down by the hidden alcohol in my bag, feeling about 15.