But I didn’t.
Gadhafi was on an official visit to Paris and I was walking up the famous street, the Champs d’Elysée, with some friends from eastern France, gawking at the Christmas lights.
Suddenly we saw a motorcade pull onto the street from the direction of the Palace of Elysée, the official residence of the French president. “I’ll bet that’s Gadhafi,” we said, but all we saw was dark cars.
A little later I noticed a crowd gathering in front of a hotel on the famous boulevard. “Who is coming?” I asked of someone in the crowd, as everyone shivered in the cold.
“Sharon Stone (the actress),” he replied.
“I’d rather see Sharon Stone than Gadhafi,” I thought. So we waited and shivered and froze. Finally I decided I would rather live, than die frozen like a popsicle waiting for Sharon. I guess she didn’t know I was there and she was taking her time.
But, hang on, another day I did see Hillary Clinton, wife of then President of the USA, Bill. Madame Chirac, the wife of the French president, Jacques, was with her.
As they got out of their car to go into a restaurant, Hillary waved and smiled just as if she were running for president. (I suppose she was practicing).
Serious-looking secret servicemen scanned the crowd, just like on television. I was amazed that I was close enough to see her well.
“David, what are you rambling on about?”
That’s a good question. Give me long enough and I’ll figure out what I want to say. Continue reading