Tonight I am going to a Firemen's Ball - apparently this is a Parisian tradition on the eve of Bastille Day. It's not really a ball, but the firehouses all host parties on that night and there will be music, dancing and general revelry. Like I care about that. The important thing is this: there will be firemen! What? Miss K is not made of stone, and I am just as likely to ogle firemen as any other woman is. But let's not get into my rich and detailed fantasy life - this is not that kind of blog, people!
I live very near the Tuileries, and most mornings, you will find members of the Sapeurs/Pompiers (paramedics/firefighters) who go running there, and may I just say, they all seem to be most delightfully fit. Not generally a very tall bunch (don't worry, big burly men of the FDNY, you are still Miss K's favourites!), but nonetheless, I would trust any one of them to swoop me up in his manly arms and carry me off. (Ahem. I meant carry me off from a burning building, you understand -what did I just say about this not being that kind of blog? Honestly, people!) In fact, more than once I have been tempted to "sprain" my ankle right in front of them, just to test this theory, but with my lack of coordination I probably really would fall over and break something.
Okay, now I have to go dancing with a bunch of hot firemen (sometimes it's good to be a single girl, it really is...). I will report back tomorrow and let you know how it was, but really, how could it be bad???