Monsieur Marcel

his legs and mine, originally uploaded by sweetmondaygirl.

There's this French restaurant in the farmer's market that G. and I discovered last year, just as my little love for all things French was kicking into gear. This place is great. It's small and cramped and the wait time is always nearly unbearable, but these are actually some of the reasons I love to go there. The waiters are French, and I don't know if it's just good luck or what, but I always seem to end up sitting next to French people when I'm there. Because of this, I feel transported while sitting in that tiny place, devouring delicious food.

All afternoon I've been thinking it might be a good night to eat there. The clouds that plagued the morning have long since burnt off, the past few hours have been sunny and warm, and it looks at though we're going to sink into the evening in just the way one hopes every weekend will start. It's the perfect atmosphere for enjoying a cozy cafe.

And then just now, G. called to let me know he was on his way over to pick me up. "Why don't we go to that French place at the farmer's market?" he said.

For all the ways we are different, the boy and I, we sure do think alike much of the time.