It rings my bell

When I lived in Ada, Michigan my favorite restaurant was Yesterdog.  It was in Grand Rapids in a neighborhood called Uptown.  Why do I feel like it was even listed in the Preppy Handbook?  I don't think it could've been, but it must have just been the same time of life and for some reason I've connected the two.  (If I was in Grand Beach I could check.  I happen to have two Preppy Handbooks on the bookshelf.)

One of my favorite things about Yesterdog was the approach.  You were driving down a regular street and the pavement suddenly turned into brick.  For some reason, at age 16 I used to say, "It's like living in Paris."  I'd certainly never been to Paris.  In fact, I hadn't been much further than Grand Rapids.  I don't remember learning anything about Paris at school.  I don't remember seeing any movies about Paris.  Where does a hick from Ada learn that there are cobblestone streets in Paris?  (You're right.  In Uptown they were brick.  But I guess it was the next best thing.)  So, you're driving along and you feel the bump and rumble of the bricks under the tires.  "It's like living in Paris," I'd say.  Every single time.

And now what do I say when I ride my bike home through Place de la Bastille?  The regular paved street suddenly turns into cobblestone.  This time it's real cobblestone.  I feel the bump and rumble under the tires.  It actually rings my bell.  "It's like living in Paris," I say to myself.  And then I laugh (out loud).  "I AM living in Paris," I say.  Every single time.