In World Cup football, women rule.
What, you don't believe me? I thought I'd taught you never to disagree with a litigator...
Here's the proof. Yesterday I call a fine beer-drinking establishment of central Paris to book a table for the France-Uruguay game (the opening salvo for the much-maligned Blues). There's little hope, I think to myself, the game starts in four hours. But lo and behold, a table is procured.
When Miss Hermes and I arrive at the said establishment, it turns out we have the best seat in the house. Our own private television, a table by the open window, and a waiter who will bend over backwards (often over the bodies of sweaty football fans) to indulge our every whim (beer-related, that is).
Add to that the shy but indubitably flirtatious glances and smiles showered upon us as the Blues fail, yet again, to score a goal, and you'll have to agree, I was right.
During World Cup madness, it pays to be a woman.
At least it's better than being Nicolas Anelka (pardon the French football joke - it won't happen again.)
PS: What do you think of my new template? Pretty spiffy, eh?!