On the day that we went to Notre Dame, it was 197 degrees outside. Yep, I know, you didn't think it could get that warm. Clearly you didn't look at my previous post with my sweaty tshirt. It was hot. Like unbearably too-hot-to-stand-in-any-line-unless-you-are-naked type hot. We weren't naked, and luckily the line moved quickly.
Pretty sure I could say the words "Flying Buttress" about 25 times per day, and I would giggle every time. Those words just make me happy. My nephew used to think that the word "cubbie" was funny. Me, I like Flying Buttress. Glad it was such a useful form of architechture in Paris, I used that word a lot.