For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to go to Paris. My family's full of anglophiles, and dinners were opportunities to discuss the Tudors and Stuarts, Victoriana, and Gilbert and Sullivan. I went the other route, to the east. By the time I graduated college my romantic notions of the place were in full bloom. I'd studied French history, knew my art, and spoke passable book-French. The only thing left to do was go.