Like.

Dislike.

Like.

The culprit.

All in a day's work.

The present.

Aaah! Paris in February. Oh how the owners of such adorable four-legged creatures love to mess with us. Ladies, check your Louboutin's. Gentlemen, your loafers. Or better yet, keep your head down while walking to avoid spreading the joy.

Something fresh before something heinous.

Be forewarned. One of tomorrow's photographs will conjure up quite a different smell from this one. The flowers at David's on the Left Bank in Paris all smelled like flowers should. Bee-U-ti-FUL. And the flowers last for days.

A remedy for Jet Lag.

One glass of champagne, a cup of tea and "What may I ask is that comforting smell?" Diluted bleach. The George V Paris does make one feel right at home. Merci.

An intruder.

The George V Paris is perfection personified. The staff. The weekly floral extravaganza in the lobby. The decor. The cleanliness. The attention to detail. My guess is this teeny-weeny interloper hid in the closet while housekeeping conducted their final room inspection prior to my check in. Then it flew onto the ceiling to observe my inspection. The bug is smaller than a grain of quinoa. Yes, I am that good.

A potential design flaw.

This wine wall looks nice, but ... unless this Montreal Trudeau International Airport restaurant hires 8 ft. wait staff they will have to be as hygienically aware as this waiter. At least while I am in the restaurant.

Spot the sign of respect.

Rhymes with Light Shoves.

Consider the recipient.

An alternate Emergency Exit.

If you find yourself in an airplane bathroom without toilet paper or tissue for a relatively germ-free exit, reach for this coat hook instead. Yes, this too is blessed with invisible toilet spray courtesy of those individuals who do not put down the toilet seat. But it is definitely a less touched item than the door handle. Why airlines do not include this useful piece of information during their safety briefing is beyond moi.

Another quirk of mine.

In my personal, humble, hyper-sensitive opinion, seeing kitchen staff smoke is as appealing as seeing kitchen staff exit a washroom without the benefit of a paper towel escort.

Two questions.

Do I spy beef-broth-cooling-unattended outside-the-back-door-of-a-restaurant-leading-to-a-parking-garage-on-Valentine's-Day? Now, what if someone were to drop their broken heart into the broth? Would the chef notice? FYI, the restaurant in question is not the Italian Bakery. Restaurant in question just happens to have bread delivered from the bakery.

One of nine.

Monmouth Street London's secret to looking nice and tidy? Nine trash bins in one block!

Can you catch Pink Eye from this exhibit?

Mind games.

I imagined a giant bed bug in place of the comb in René Magritte's painting Les Valeurs personnelles on display at SFMOMA and was quickly thankful his mind did not go there. His goal, according to the Wiki Gods, was to make viewers hypersensitive to their surroundings. Check.

Thankfully not alligator skin.

Sometimes I go to a restaurant for the food. And then there are those days when I just feel like a really good foot flush. This one can be found in celebrity chef Rob Feenie's Cactus Club in Edmonton, Alberta.

Obsessed for a reason.

London cab drivers are fined if they fail to keep their cabs clean.

We can coexist.

IF you wash your hands we can be friends:)