Sunday in the park

Is there a perfect day in Paris? Maybe it goes like this:

75 degrees, sunny, a soft breeze. A two-hour lunch at Chez Julien with a handsome (German) Parisian. A stroll across the Pont Louis Philippe for ice cream at Berthillon on Île Saint Louis, eaten in the shadow of Notre Dame. Take the metro up to the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, sit in the sun, meet some friends, lie back on the grass and listen to La Traviata. I'm not sure I could live here (no air conditioning?), but thumbs up on the Sunday ethos. The whole time I kept narrating in my head: people do this in their real lives; this is possible.  And it's true. The hard part is going back to your own life and remembering. Or would you at some point grow immune to this, too, and start thinking, Jesus christ, another day in the park? How do you not go blind to something you see every day?