Today, as I was walking my girls to the Metro stop after their pottery class, I got some strange looks.
Most people smiled, though some just looked confused.
You see, I was carrying P's clay sculpture, which was in the shape of a life-sized human head, under my arm. He wasn't exactly true to form, though, being made by an 8-year old (8 and a half, she would say). Let's just say his right temple was, um, a bit, well, dented.
I felt rather historic, figuring today was one of the few days since the Révolution that severed heads had been carried through the streets of Paris.
But, of course, this one was bald and grinning.