Dave's Not the Only Bad Driver

Let me start by saying that French roads are really narrow.

I was on my way for some retail therapy in Cannes. Shopping in Cannes sounds really great, right? You know, walking along the Riviera, looking at all the yachts and the beautiful people, as the waves crash on the surf, while you spot the latest fashions at bargain prices. Almost, but not quite. It's actually more like this: Drive along French roads that are 5 feet wide, find a minuscule parking spot that costs about $4 per hour (the cheapest one), battle the crowds, have a heart attack when you convert Euros into dollars. . .just to find some black pants or a pair of winter shoes. All in all I wouldn't mind just going to Target.

But I digress. On my way to Cannes I got lost. I mean, I knew generally where I was, but it was not going to get me to Zara to buy my black pants. The road was narrow (big surprise!) and windy and there were cars parked all along the side.

I was driving along when I heard a really loud crack that shocked me. My heart was racing as I looked around to see what was going on. Imagine my surprise when I saw the passenger side mirror dangling in the autumn ocean breeze, by a single electrical wire.

I made it to Cannes OK and even found some great black pants at Zara for 30 Euros. But I must admit most of the joy of finding my way alone and accomplishing my shopping goal was hampered by the annoyance of wondering how many Euros it would be to fix that dang mirror!

For now it is well secured with one of my hair elastics so it doesn't flap around and get the attention of the flics!