I think Paris could be the City of Love, after all.
Not because it is more romantic, or more exciting, or more lovely, than any other city in Europe, or indeed the world. Not because Parisian men are different from any others.
But because to love Paris, you must avoid the dog crap in the streets; you must contend with the crowds of tourists and the hordes of those that prey on them; you must ignore the people spitting on sidewalks and pissing into the Seine in broad daylight.
To love Paris, you must accept these things, and agree to overlook them. To bask in the beauty of her river, her buildings, her sites, her sounds, her tastes and her heady opportunities, you must acknowledge her faults and choose to live with them.
That, to me, is the greatest possible lesson in love.