We reached the Champs-Elysées approximately ten minutes after the rest of the population of Western Europe. Noëlle and I moved around trying to find a good spot, but no matter where we went, all we could see was the backs of people’s heads. I didn’t think anything could be worse than the after-Christmas sale at Nordstrom, but I was clearly wrong.

The parade started and ended. I saw nothing.

Once the festivities were over, Noëlle and I made our way to the Métro station, only to find that the same fourteen rows of people who had been ahead of us at the parade were now ahead of us in line for the train. “Pas de problème,” chirped Noëlle. “ Nous chercherons un taxi.” The idea of looking for a taxi was a fine one, except that apparently all the drivers had taken the night off—they had probably been standing in front of us at the parade. After walking half a dozen blocks, Noëlle suggested that we just walk the rest of the way home. It was one A.M.

Normally, I cannot stay awake past ten o’clock. My goal throughout high school was to stay up long enough to watch Saturday Night Live. I never made it. In college, my parents had no need to worry about my getting involved with drugs and alcohol, since by the time most parties started, I was in my third cycle of REM sleep.

I am also legendary among my friends for my complete lack of a sense of direction, making me the perfect kidnap victim, no blindfold necessary. Drive me anywhere and I will be unable to find my way back. It was therefore a great irony that I found myself in a foreign city trying to make my way home way past my bedtime.

I spent the entire walk home making deals with God: “If you just get me home, I will never ask for anything again.” Between conversations with the Almighty, I listened for the click-click of Noëlle’s heels, a Morse code of sorts, to guide me back to the rue de Turbigo. By then, we had run out of conversation, or rather, Noëlle had nothing more to say about men. Much to her disappointment, I didn’t have much to contribute on the topic since I was, to put it kindly, a late bloomer.