An American Hamster in Paris

My owners have been talking about a vacation for a while now. Because of this, I knew it was only a mater of time before I had to say goodbye to TaTa for a bit. I just never thought I'd be saying au revoir to him.

To apparently help break up the malaise that is the northeast frozen tundra, my owners decided to pack a few bags and head off to sunny France. You know, it's the country with all the whiney guys in berets. So into the hay-filled, beige carrying case I went for the next 12 to 15 hours (depending on layovers and the time change). Well, what do you know? I guess all the millions upon millions of square miles and breathtaking monuments right here in the good ol' U.S. of A. were all booked. So now, instead of wiping a tear away as I gaze into the granite faces of former presidents on a certain South Dakota mountain, I'll be squinting awkwardly at the Eiffel Tower. Where are the walls anyway? Dude, they never even bothered to finish it. And ain't that just like the French? They're probably waiting for the Americans to come help them... again.

What was probably the best part of our trip to the land of bri cheese and accordion music was when a couple of poodles were in front of me in line. Smirking to myself, I shouted "Ich bin ein Noodle!" They instantly threw down their baguette bread, put their hands up and surrendered. The French crack me up. Then I casually asked them which way to the Mona Liza Minnelli.