I just got back from an almost three week vacation. It was a long time to be gone. I don't blog much, but one little vignette was kind of esoteric, and I thought I'd share it with you.

I was riding on the Metro towards the Etoille when a young Frenchman got on the train. He was probably less than an inch shorter than 6 feet tall. Frenchmen come in all shapes, sizes and colors. The stereotypical Frenchman has dark hair and a masculine five o'clock shadow. This guy wasn't like that at all. He had a real aristocratic bearing and look to him, someone I might write into one of my stories. His skin was smooth, as if he could go for a day or two without shaving and no one would be all that much wiser. He had a long oval face with a smooth straight nose; it was perhaps more rounded as if to take the pointiness out of his face. When he smiled, he had one dimple, on his left cheek. His hair was a darker brown at the roots and a lighter brown at the ends, and with it's medium length, the contrast was really attractive. I don't know if it was like that naturally, but it looked like it, and isn't that really the goal anyway? He wore a suit, as if he was coming from work. His hands were thin and elegant, the skin smooth as if he didn't do hard work at all. He wore an elegant square watch, with an unrecognizable logo, and had no rings on. His black, non-descript work shoes were scuffed, the one flaw in his otherwise flawless appearance.

When he walked onto the train, I couldn't help but look at him, and his handsome brown eyes caught mine and he smiled slightly before sitting in the jump seat across the aisle from mine. He took out his cell phone; my French is good enough to understand what he said.

"I'm on my way now. "

"I missed you too."

"It doesn't matter what we do tonight, as long as we do it together."

"I can stay over tonight. Let me go home and get clothes for tomorrow."

"I can't wait to see you too.'

The train was noisy, despite the rubber wheels, so there was no way to know who the other person was. Was it a woman or a man? Were they dating, or in a relationship? It's considered rude to stare at people on the Metro, so I watched him in the reflection in the window, only daring to take the odd sideways look at him. After he hung up he had that look on his face, the look of a young man who was truly smitten by the other person. It's hard to describe that look, the idyllic expression, the stupid grin, the slight blush.

The train arrived at the Etoillle, the end of this particular line, and we all got up to get off. He rushed for the door, anxious to get over to see this other lucky person that so ignited him, and bumped into me.

"I'm so sorry," he said politely.

"It's no problem," I said. "Enjoy your evening."

"I will," he said with a grin. The doors open and he sprinted off.