When someone asks me, "Do you like living in Paris?", this is what I usually do. Firstly, I take a deep breath to mentally prepare myself to answer the question as flashes of images of Paris fill my head.

The warm baguette tradition and its orgasmic crust. The nonchalant waiters and waitresses who never seem to look my way in restaurants. The beautiful gleam of golden light on the surface of the Seine river at night. The gloomy faces of commuters on the cramped metro.

How do I answer this question without telling my life story?