The Profiteroles

We're walking about Paris for spring break.  Enjoying museums and parks and churches and restaurants.

  Last night we went to a fave restaurant for dinner.  Our evening was slightly marred when we were led to a table painfully close to 4 men out for a business dinner.  Come to find out, these men are in publishing. A New Yorker and a Brit yakked LOUDLY while their 2 Asian colleagues reasonably stared at their phones.  

  New Yorker and Brit worked on one-upping each other throughout the meal with their extravagant travel experiences.  We ignored them as long as we could, but toward the end they broke through our privacy wall,  peppering us with questions about our identities.  

Our Indiana residency confused them.  What's Indiana known for?  What do you do there? Where is it? 

 After some chitchatkittykat repartee, Husbandman and I went back to ignoring them and decided to share a dessert. When profiteroles arrived, these 2 flipped their lids.  "Wow! Profiteroles! Look at you 2 ordering profiteroles!" and "Well, I just can not believe that people from Indiana could make such a sophisticated order!"  

Don't you think that's a bit on the rude side?  Geez Louise.

Aside from this annoyance, the trip is going splendidly.  As usual, we're doing our best and forgetting the rest.