A few weeks ago, I went to a new dentist who, so kindly, asked me about myself and what I like to do in my free time. Pretty sure no one has asked me that since
my last awkward pre-Tinder date 2012, so I panicked, first almost blurting out that I dance, only to remember that me and my aching body closed that book back before the country went to shit when we still had Barack and Roll in office.
Then I thought, read, but any normal person is going to follow up with “what are you reading now” and I didn’t want to have to tell him The Girl With the Lower Back Tattoo.
15 awkward seconds later my hobby of door hunting finally came to mind. I tried to cover it up by telling him “photography,” but the chatty bastard did in fact go on to ask what kind. And now my new dentist office will be warning all patients with colored and/or interesting front doors and houses to set up additional security.
FORTUNATELY my creepy love for photographing architecture is not frowned upon in Europe, or at least no more than any other American tourist act. Here are just a handful of my favorite doors of Paris.