A Salutation in Flour

A crisp Paris morning demands an authoritative inspection of the day's fresh provisions! Outside the bakery door, a towering wicker basket stood brimming with giant, golden-crusted baguettes, filling the cool air with warm toasted perfume. I marched forward with grand pomp, tapping my own miniature crust against the woven basket to conduct the morning review. Suddenly, my heel caught a patch of white baker’s flour—whoosh! I skidded across the stone doorstep, sliding smoothly into a dramatic, low theatrical lunge with my tricolor flag aimed skyward. An accidental skid? Far from it! A daring, operatic bow in honor of Paris’s finest harvest!