Stacks of fresh tortillas sat on the grocery store shelf, starring at me. I looked at them
like I had found, at last, my long, lost soul mate. The tortillas were
made by a Lebanese baker. In my mind I said out loud, "Lebanese baker, bakes Mexican tortillas, sells them in France, to an American woman... the world is getting smaller."
I felt a guilty pleasure... twenty some years without tortillas ready made at the grocer. Of course, my mouth watered as I bought a few packages.
I have been reunited: Life will never be the same.