Intercontinental Carlton Cannes, France(Note to Readers: Ms. Anne would die if she knew I told you about our late night conversation.  She thought it was pillow talk among friends with no benefits. Act surprised now, that I am in the book. )

French Arrival

Attention everyone. This is your Brain talking, and I’m taking over this chapter, now that we’ve arrived in the South of France.  Is it a fabulous day here in Cannes or what?

Ms Anne is so astounded by the vitriolic outpouring of anti-French sentiment against the facts of French women by Americans on last week’s NYTimes that she’s on a diplomatic mission with the French attaché to be certain that we are still welcome here in Cannes.

Truthfully, I think she hightailed it out of town, for fear you will throw her to the wolves, too.

Not to worry. I’m Brain, your inner control center. To know you is to love you — and I do love every ounce of flesh arriving here in Cannes on this splendid morning.

Your outer self may be throwing rotten tomatoes at French women but inside you know you’re not spending enough time at the farmer’s market.

Not to fear my friends. We’re here in the south of France, on our way to “la dolce vita” in Portofino. Trust me when I say we’ll be picking up more than a few good recipes on the way.

The parking is quite difficult here at The Carlton, so you’ll just valet your cars. Just give the keys to the good-looking chap, that glamorous stud muffin standing in the doorway.  For god’s sake — don’t hit the Bentley.

Good job everyone! So many hybrids, Anne will be pleased.

When In France

We have quite a crowd building on this American journey to the promised land of healthy food, great sex, plenty of exercise and a focus on the love of your life.  That would be YOU my friend.

Ok, if we just go to your right in the lobby, we’ve reserved the terrace for this chapter.  Come along now.

My dear friends — a private word as we get started in the south of France. Just because we’re Americans, let’s not act like we own the place, OK?

“Oui, oui. Merci, monsieur.”

Don’t worry about the luggage, darlings. We have everything under control. Your luggage will be waiting in your rooms, when we’ve finished with our little chat. Then you can freshen up and enjoy la plage across the road after lunch.

Yes, of course that’s George Clooney walking through the lobby, but let me have your attention mes amis.  If every famous person you will see in the south of France gets us off message, I simply can’t keep us on message.

One Brain can’t fight all the external factors that are fighting against us. Sugar, fat, the fashion industry, photoshop — they are all against us. Our problem is not with French women, my darlings.