My summer romance with Mr. Europe has ended. We frolicked in the city and the beach holding hands and gorging ourselves on food and drink like that day might be our last.

We gazed into each other's eyes as if we could see into each other's souls, and we believed that we were made for each other.

The "one", which neither one of us never believed in was there in front of us and we didn't want to look away and miss a single second.

Because that is the only way to really live.

Then after an 8 hour flight reality slapped me in face, and it was rude (people at JFK airport) and humid (the weather) and smelly (cab) and loud (everything in NYC). Why were so many people yelling in terrible American accents?

Did my romance happen at all?

Weening my body off the cheese-baguettes-rosé a day diet has not been easy. Every time I'm at a bar I search the drink menus for the rosé section. NO! I will NOT order one from California. France or bust.

As my friend who goes to the south of France every summer said so eloquently via text, "Because France is the planet you're supposed to be on, amirite?"

She. Is. Right.

London & Manchester, UK

London is gray much of the time.
Living the houseboat life is romantic.
Coffee is unparalleled. I easily fell in love with flat whites, which are delicious and surprising. Sometimes the foam is a flower, a heart, or a unicorn (not really). Like drinking velvet.
People are extremely polite. Even the busses that are out of service say, "Sorry, this bus is not in service." In NY there wouldn't be any sorry. It'd just say "Fuck you. Walk."
I cannot fake a good British accent. Even after several beers my Brit friends politely shook their heads and said, "No."
We, as Americans, will always find Marmite perplexing.
So much cake in my belly.

Paris & Nice, France

French women are so beautiful and confident I contemplated my bisexuality.
French menflirted with me without hesitation in a way that made me never want to speak to a man in NY again.
Paris is as magical as everyone says.
The riviera sun doesn't burn, it toasts everyone a golden brown.
So many croissants and baguettes in my belly.
Fucking wine, everyday...all fucking day.
I need "Je ne sais quoi" to be an actual substance that I can capture in a jar and apply liberally to everything in my life.