May Day in Paris is a charming delight. Almost. Everyone… and I mean everyone… who is looking to make a few bucks, is out selling bunches of Lily of the Valley. Walking out of my door and I saw them all lined up. Every ten feet you could hear them calling for you to buy theirs and no one elses.
We’ve got your typical gypsy grandma.
And your grandpa version:
And the mom-to-be.
The bellies on these girls go in and out and in and out.
Please for the love of God give these girls birth-control.
Then there is this gypsy girl who manages to keep her belly in the same place.
When I asked why she told me she already had a bunch of kids.
She’s always bugging me about babies now that I’m betrothed. It’s kind of annoying.
I’m sensing she and her cohorts think baby making is the ONLY thing that matters AT ALL.
Except for buying her flowers.
She’s been buttering me up all year so I spend my fiver on her flowers this one day of the year.
It’s better than buying from this rather intense flower salesman that only shows up once a year.
Now that I have my flowers, the whole rest of the street can stop badgering me about buying their flowers.
This may be the best part of May Day.
Oh wait, no… this is the best part. She’s so cute!
And this. A stop-by at my local butcher shop for a bisous.