Every year the beekeepers of the Luxembourg Garden sell their honey to the public. It has a special flavour, maybe due to Paris pollution.
I thought today was the day. I rushed over with my cash. I even found one last cheque in my French checkbook, in case I didn't have enough cash (beekeepers don't take credit cards). Alas, I was wrong about the date.
"It was last weekend," a lady sitting at a table in front of the beekeepers' clubhouse, a table spread with cookies and a pot of honey. She pointed to the poster above her head, which I'd already seen earlier this week. Sure enough--I was a week out. Crestfallen. But all these people lined up--weren't they waiting to buy honey? (Last year it was rationed; only 1 pot per family.) No, they were waiting to take the exam.
When I come back to live in Paris, I will become a beekeeper in the Luxembourg Garden. I will take the exam.
(I found a link to a blog about Paris's beekeepers, from which I borrowed my photo.)