Loyalty

I feel like such a traitor.

First, some background: every neighborhood in Paris is serviced by a really excellent market. It is an aspect of Parisian life that I increasingly relish...the experience of mulling over the three types of cheeses you will select, of going from one little vendor to the next, for your fish, for your flowers, for your fruits and vegetables, even for mending your clothes. Last week, Xavier and I went to the covered market closest to our house for all of these things. We bought fruit and vegetables from one of the very nice fruit/vegetable vendors, who, at the end, gave us raspberries and strawberries as little goodies to try. He handed them to us gingerly and with care. He was very sweet.

Yesterday, I went back to the market and wanted to buy some more vegetables. I approached the same stand, but couldn't see the nice guy anywhere. It just so happens that there is another fruit and vegetable stand directly next to his. I mean almost touching. And there were two guys there who told me to come over to taste one of their strawberries. So, while still looking over my shoulder for my missing guy, I gave in to the draw and then, naturally, I also started selecting my avocados, endives, eggplant, potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, apples and oranges. Well, of course, not more than 3 minutes later he returned. I tried to avoid his gaze, because I could feel the heat of it from where I was inspecting the avocados. Eventually I couldn't help it. I looked at him with a sorry sort of grimace. He literally shook his head. This is not done. No loyalty. I've said it before, but sometimes I feel like I live in a little village in France.