I opened the door to find a short, middle-aged man. Quel dommage.
I would not be falling in love tonight.
He held a black, leather, doctor’s bag and had his stethoscope at the ready. So the doctor was not charming, but the whole notion was. As he pulled out an array of shiny, silver tools, I began to feel like I was in an old movie. Suddenly everything was in black and white, and I had the strangest desire to “talk like this, see,” and do something dramatic – like faint onto a settee. Oh, France, I thought to myself, as he began his inspection, you even find a way to make being ill charming.