Tonight’s my last night in Paris. My stomach waved a white flag at dinner tonight and he and I, like transit workers and Mayor Bloomberg, decided to reach an accord: I’d return to New York and quit this binge eating and he’d agree not to swell to the size of a quadruplet-pregnancy. My flight gets in at 2:30 tomorrow after which I’ll make my way home and probably pass out. But prepare for the remainder of my day-by-day breakdowns (Days 6, 7, & 8) after I recover in the splendor of my apartment where the hot water is plentiful, the plugs plug in without adaptors and the shower doesn’t explode water all over the bathroom. Yes, I’m ready for home but I’ve loved Paris. I loved it when I got here and I love it as I’m leaving. Au revoir, Paris. It’s been magical.