13 06 24 — the day we met Helene

Paris is called The City of Light.

In my case, it refers to how much lighter my wallet becomes  every time I visit Paris

Miracle #1: The Wallet That Refused to Leave

I’m in an elevator at Charles de Gaulle.

An “old lady” wedges a suitcase into my back.

Oddly, this old lady has a two-day beard.

At that exact moment, I feel a hand in my pocket—my wallet making its emotional exit.

Now, at my age, I should do nothing. Reflect. Possibly write a will.

Instead, I throw an elbow backward.

Crunch.

The beardy grandmother drops my wallet and vanishes like a Parisian ghost with dental issues.

A kind woman hands my wallet back to me.

I wait for pain in my elbow.

Nothing.

Apparently, I’ve discovered a new medical condition:

Selective Invincibility Under Irritation.

Miracle #2: The Flying Senior

On the Metro, I charm three Parisians with my French.

By “charm,” I mean I accidentally invent a new dialect that makes them laugh uncontrollably.

We exit.

I misjudge a step.

Suddenly, I am airborne.

Not gracefully—more like a sack of potatoes reconsidering gravity.

Below me: concrete.

Ahead of me: obituary.

Behind me: Kate, about to become independently wealthy.

Then—out of nowhere—my three new French friends spin around and catch me mid-flight.

Like I’m a falling chandelier.

They lower me gently to the ground.

I say, “Nice catch, guys.”

Because when strangers save your life, it’s important to sound like a Little League coach.

Miracle #3: The Gun That Chose Restraint

We’re relaxing in a quiet airport room when suddenly:

Unattended suitcase.

Police everywhere.

Men with very large weapons and very small patience.

One young officer stands behind glass, finger near the trigger of something that could remodel my face.

He’s chatting. Animated. Casual.

His gun is pointed directly at my head.

I consider my options:

Duck? Too late.

Run? I’d trip again.

Pray? Already in progress.

I whisper to Kate, “We should leave.”

She says, “We’re safe.”

Kate is often right. It’s one of her more irritating qualities.

The officer never fires.

I remain unventilated.

Final Thought

Three miracles in one trip:

My wallet stayed.

My bones stayed intact.

My head stayed unperforated.

And people ask why we didn’t stay for the Olympics.

I figured I’d used up my Paris allowance of miracles.

No need to get greedy.