Back from cold rainy Paris, back in the soul-sucking heat of Accra. I had to take a two week break from blogging to enjoy the time with my girlfriend, so as to ask her to marry me. She said yes. Holy crap, right?

Other than that bombshell, only have time for a nanoblog today: gotta employ skillz, pay billz. Today's format is a three point defense of Uncle Sam's erstwhile buddy Louie le Frog:

Aren't the French rude?
Not really. In two weeks, we met one supercilious waiter and one snooty [lady pooch] cashier, but that was it. Everyone else was plenty patient with our dictionary fumblings.

But don't they leave dog poop all over the sidewalk?
They do. But this seems to be a symptom of their tremendous deference to their dogs. All over the town, dogs are running free next to their owners, who only use the leashes in their hands as a last resort. What better indicator of a country's soul exists than how it treats its dogs?

How about whether or not the country in question tries to test a nuclear bomb in the South Pacific?
OK, point.

Gotta go work. Bye.