PARIS

Lesson of the Day: The French don't put up "Wet Paint" signs.

Especially on days that you are wearing your favorite black coat.

And were woken up minutes before by a woman towering above you in your tiny, dark room, speaking quickly at your foggy brain in French, pretty much telling you that you have to leave so she can clean.

It was an angry morning.

I decided to walk to school to cool off, knowing that a steamy, packed metro wouldn't help my angry morning mind.

So there I was, walking down Parisian streets in the morning, wearing a nondescript black trench in the windy, gray weather, scowling and looking down at the sidewalk.

And I realized that I finally looked French.

And then I smiled, and broke the spell. And honest to God, almost walked into a man that happened to be crossing the sidewalk in front of me with a roller of dripping white paint.