Finding love is no pie in the sky

Paris truly is the ‘City Of Love’. I just came home after a rare solo sojourn to celebrate the end of my radio show and I fell head over heels while I was frolicking around gay Paree.

My husband may or may not be glad to read this and, I assure you, I do still love him.

But … I have a new love.

No, not a 30-year-old Parisian named Jean Marc. My new love is a pie bag.

Yes. A genius invention. A flat-bottomed, round, canvas bag you zip up so you can rest your tasty pie within safe surrounds. A very fancy pie swag, if you will. A deceptively fashionable accessory.

The plain fabric bag has two handles and you can trot around town feeling very smug that your tart is tucked away right next to your body in what looks like a chic, beige, linen handbag. But only you would know you are carrying a pie.

I would get a cherry pie every Monday. An apricot on Tuesday. An old-school family beef pie on Wednesday. A chicken curry pie on Thursday. And, to celebrate the start of the weekend, I would buy an apple pie every Friday. Ooh la la!

The French have it figured out. Alas, I did not buy my fashionable pie bag as it was $150.

As much as I wanted that tart tote,I could not justify the outrageous price tag.

I did see Monet’s Water Lilies painting at the Musee de l’Orangerie and, of course, I checked in to see that Mona Lisa was still smirking away at The Louvre. I also saw Luxembourg Gardens in full bloom and it took my breath away.

I ate Beef Bourguignon and drank hot chocolate as thick as custard at Angelina tea house (where Coco Chanel used to have a set table).

I swooned over the Eiffel Tower and climbed the 300 steep steps to the Sacre-Coeur.

But make no mistake: that damn pie bag will haunt me to the end of the days.

You see, the ‘City Of Love’ really is for everyone.

It just depends what love you are searching for.