Born French

After returning from my most recent trip to France, I am convinced that I was switched at birth.  Somewhere in France there lives a fifty-something woman who is sure she ought to be American.  She and I were switched at birth.  ( I do not know how her French parents happened to be in New Orleans at the time of her birth, rather than in France....perhaps visiting some distant relatives).
There is no where else that I feel more at home than in France.  Whether it be the countryside of southern France or the hustle and bustle of Paris, I am equally content.
I had a great trip with my husband, showing him the sites and discovering some new ones too.  I don't think he fully appreciated my driving skills on the hilly back roads in our tiny standard shift  Nissan Micra, perhaps next time we'll opt for a Porsche!
In honor of all things French I happen to have a duck roasting in the oven at the moment.  Granted it is not a fresh succulent French duck, but it is duck none-the-less.  When in America, one must make compromises in the effort to live the French life.