“It can’t get any hotter,” I tell myself every night as I sweat into my pillows, but I’m always wrong. It seems to get warmer and more humid every day. I really don’t mind the heat, but that humidity is enough to make me lose my mind, especially as I look into the mirror, flabbergasted by what is happening to my hair. It’s always been wavy, but it’s becoming ridiculous now. There has to be twice as many curls as before. I like it, but nobody ever gets to sees my newfound beauty, since I’m forced to toss it back in a bun every day so that I don’t overheat and DIE. It’s a real shame.

I wasn’t in the greatest mood; I blamed the apartment’s size, so I went down to the beach to soak up some Vitamin D. Feeling a bit perkier, I dressed to visit the shops and find food for the next few days. As I perused the salad greens, my shirt soaked again with sweat, I determined that today was a day to escape the heat. I simply could not stand another day with my body fighting me at every turn to look like a dry human being. I don’t understand why everybody else isn’t perspiring quite as rapidly as I am.

After cooking myself an early dinner, I went out to the Promenade des Anglais and marveled at the people running. Why would they run today? Ever? They looked utterly miserable, and I don’t doubt for a second that they were. I know a lot of people that like to run, but I’ve never been fully convinced. You know me, I don’t judge…but I’ll stick to walking, thanks very much.

I was reminded of an article I had recently read in the New York Times about a book that details the diet of communities with people who regularly make it to 100-years-old. I’ve always wanted to be 111. I don’t rightly know why, but I have no interest in passing on. There’s so much to do here! I’ll never get around to it all, not with my procrastination. Then again, I’ll probably procrastinate so long that I’ll never get around to dying. Anyway, the book talks about olive oil and wine and dark chocolate and sourdough and everything we’ve heard a million times, but it pays attention to exercise, too. The people in these communities don’t really do it. They just walk and bicycle wherever they’re going. And they tend to live in hilly areas. That suits me down to the ground. I don’t want to run anywhere, I’m perfectly content to walk for hours. Maybe I’ll make it to 111, after all? I probably eat too much cheese for that, but I am sure I can cut back.

As I got to the Place Massena, I noticed something strange in the distance:

Was it? Was he really wearing MY shirt?

My beautiful floral shirt???

HE WAS!

THAT BITCH STOLE MY LOOK! Except I don’t understand the shorts or the sandals…hasn’t he ever heard of fashion?

Still musing about my immortality and my affronted sensibilities, I entered the theater and bought a ticket to see Le Petit Prince. I even got a student discount, which helped offset the outrageous price of beverage. The theater was air conditioned and comfortable, and I probably could have dozed my way though, but I was absolutely enchanted by the film.

Most everybody has some knowledge of Le Petit Prince. I read it in high school and have always been fond of the Prince saying that a person’s favorite color was more important than a lot of other questions. I think that’s true. I don’t know if I could trust somebody who prefers neon colors. It’s a strange little book, and I couldn’t figure out how they were going to translate it to screen, but I shouldn’t have worried. Instead of just adapting the story, they made their focus a modern child who is living in a world where school and work are the most important things in the world…because that’s what people said. Her neighbor, a strange old man, doesn’t believe in that at all, and he shows her the story he has written about the Petit Prince, with the silly hats and the wonderful fox and the king on his asteroid.

She falls in love with this alternate world at once, to the extreme irritation of her mother who wants nothing more than for her to spend her entire summer studying. I shan’t give it away, but it’s a beautiful movie.

And the final scenes about the rose were enough to get me all misty eyed. Le Petit Prince has many messages, the main one is about accepting growing up without forgetting childhood whimsy. But my favorite message has always been to happily accept that people will leave you. But even if they leave you physically, the fact that they loved you and that you loved them will keep them with you forever. That’s why Tiger and Grandma Betty and all the people I don’t know that I love yet will always be with me.

It was a perfect movie, and I am so happy that I went.