Ou est le bibliotheque?

 I was sipping a chilled glass of an extraordinary vintage Merlot when Walter, my major-domo and family retainer, told me the good news.  The Queen has requested red roses from my esteemed gardens for Kate Middleton's wedding bouquet.

"Fine news," I replied, coolly. It's best not to show too much emotion with the servants. "Please tell Her Majesty...."

Then my alarm went off and I had to get up and go to work.
 
I work for a well-respected neurosurgeon who is forever running around the world, sharing his words of wisdom and single-handedly saving lives. But saving the world, while rewarding, is also extremely exhausting.  Just last week he attended an all-day conference in Los Angeles, then was a speaker at a dinner conference, hopped a red-eye back to Baltimore without sleeping, and was in his office at 8:30 am. 

"You know, " I said to him, "you don't have to save the world alone. I can go on these trips and represent you." There is nothing I like better than traveling on other people's dime...er...I mean, doing my part to help. 

Dr. Lifesaver just looked at me, momentarily wondering if perhaps I'd lost my mind.  A thought, I believe, which has occurred to him before. 

"And tell what you know about  Reverse Delayed Ischemic Neurological Deficits after Aneurysmal Subarachnoid Hemorrhage?" he asked. 

"Oh, puh-leeze," I sputtered. "Just give me some notes and I'll be fine. Seriously, if I could understand the last two seasons of  Lost, this reverse... epidemic.. dismal submarine hemorrhoid stuff should be a breeze."

For some reason, he has declined my kind offer.  I haven't given up, however. In a few months, the doc is going to France. Yes, France, the one place I have dreamed of going since...well, since he told me about it. 

While I don't exactly speak fluent French, I know enough to get by. 

"Ou est le bibliotheque?"  For you non-Francophiles, that translates to "Where is the library? " How much more would one need to know? 

When I enlightened Monsieur le Doctor of my linguistic talents, he reminded me that he, himself, had lived and studied in Paris for three years. 

"Exactly, " I replied, swiftly changing tactics, "you need somebody like me along to make you look good. You know the French are always criticizing how American's butcher their tongue. But next to me, always asking  where is the library, you will look like a genius." 

Of course, that stopped the conversation. He doesn't need to look like a genius because he is a genius.

Damn it.

Something tells me that the only view I will see of Paris is the postcard he sends. And knowing Dr. Lifesaver, it'll be a picture of a stupid library.