So, just on a whim, (because you all know I really want to climb back onto a plane and fly to Paris to pick up my recovered bag at the stolen bag holding facility in Paris) I sent an email to a former professor of mine, who, from time to time, spends a year in Paris running the junior year abroad program.
And guess what? It turns out that he wasn't running the program, but he happens to be in Paris this week, and he's agreed to help.
So right now, he and I are busy emailing back and forth. I've sent him scans of the letter from my new French boyfriend, Chief Inspector Dreyfus of the Recovered Handbags Department, and a scan of my passport, and a letter from me, telling the French police--in French--to pretty please hand my purse over to my former professor. (Which my former professor had to write for me, because as everyone who reads this blog already knows, I speak some French, but I am not tres fluent.)
So at the moment, I am COMPLETELY mental with a combination of excitement and suspense. Strangely enough, I'm also retroactively loving my vacation more and more. My daughter feels the same way. Like all of a sudden our vacation has morphed from this horrible ordeal where cruel French thieves conspire to make clodhopping Americans miserable to a warm and whimsical scene from a Jacques Tati movie. Can you hear the accordions playing, mes amis? Because I can.