The Mailman

I recently had a most unusual conversation with my Parisian postman. Actually, I trace the source to the local swimming pool. You see, it was at the municipal pool that I met Marcelle. And it was Marcelle who connected me with Veronique, my hairdresser. Veronique is about 50 yards down the street from where I live (and is the best coiffeuse I've ever had in Paris!). But - outside her door it says "Messeiurs" (Men) because she inherited her father's barber shop and never bothered to change the sign. I had passed her salon numerous times without ever noticing that she cuts WOMEN's hair. And frankly, without Marcelle's recommendation I never would have noticed (being a head in the clouds intellectual well suited to the "intello" atmosphere of Paris). It was while having my hair cut that the postman delivered mail to Veronique's salon. I realize this may be hard to believe, but our postman is a doll! He's always happy, beaming, polite and recognizes everybody in the neighborhood (otherwise known and the 'hood). When I see him outside on his mail route we always say hello to each other in a very friendly way. So of course he commented on my new haircut! (Thank goodness he came in at the end while Veronique was brushing out my hair.) Then he left and continued on his mail route. The next day, he happened to come into the lobby of my apartment building just while I was leaving. So of course I had to whip off my hat to reveal Veronique's latest masterpiece haircut! He was duly impressed, we laughed and chatted together, and the circle was complete. I love Paris.