I choose my wine by how beautiful the label is . . . and of course, by the price. As most of you wine connoisseurs know, the wines in my price range can usually be found by squatting down to the bottom shelf in the grocery store. No different here in Paris.

Well, today as I walked the 16th arrondissement, I happened on what appeared to be a nice-sized grocery store. Most of the grocery stores in our area, the historic area, are quite small, like glorified Zippy Marts.

I breeze through this store, taking photos of the cool seafood and butcher areas, the fresh vegetables and fruits, then I come to a beautiful wine section. I squat down to take a photo of the extraordinary, beautifully designed wine labels on the bottom shelf (trying to illustrate the incredible bargains) and just as I’m about to click the shutter, I hear this lovely male voice behind me utter something that sounded like French with a southern accent.

Okay, picture the scene: I’m squatting down, and of course at my age, getting up quickly is not an option. Still down, I turn and look to see who is behind me and, as we say in the South, I ‘tump over’ right in front of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Legs go everywhere.

I do the best I can to compose myself, and not to embarrass the reputation of the rest of American women. He extends his hand to help me up and says something – that sounds – very sweet.

Well, he’s the wine sommelier and he speaks beautiful British English. He tells me his life story, admitting to being Canadian by birth.  His parents emmigrated to England where he received most of his formal education. Being so accessible to France, his family vacationed frequently in this country. He moved here when he met, as he said, “the love of my life.” Here’s been here ever since.

I didn’t buy a bottle of wine from him because I was just beginning my day’s walk and didn’t want to risk breaking the bottle.

But I’ll return later for one and to thank him for being such a lovely part of my day.

~ Walking Paris in 30 days.