That's when the wet T-Shirt contest began.

The only picture Kellie will allow.

We stood in line for three hours to get into the catacombs hidden below Paris. For the first two hours we broiled beneath an unrelenting sun, feeling and smelling like stale bread plucked from a fondue pot. The next half-hour brought relief as thickening clouds and a quickening wind interrupted the heat wave that had suffocated Paris for days. Then, in the final half-hour, the sky split open like a ruptured waterbed mattress. That's when the wet T-shirt contest began.

To the delight of Parisian men and male tourists, the oppressive heatwave gripping Paris had impelled many women to shed their brassieres and don skimpy clothing, making the jittery ride on crowded subway trains slightly more tolerable. But outside, stuck in a downpour, lightweight blouses became magically transparent, turning Paris into spring break in Fort Lauderdale. 

I remained in the line while Kellie and my daughter ran underneath the branches of a large tree and huddled with their umbrella. I had an umbrella, too, and felt guilty about not sharing my shelter with someone. I had room for another person but there were so many in need. Naturally, I asked the young man ahead of me, a twenty-something Spaniard from Elizondo, if his girlfriend would like to cozy up next me (I probably didn't use the word cozy). She jumped under my umbrella. The poor thing was only wearing tight, black shorts and a low cut, red tank top. Soaked and shivering, she bounced up and down in a desperate attempt to generate body heat. Her arms were folded across her chest, each hand cupping a breast, creating the same effect as a Victoria's Secret Wonderbra. I don't know if her gyrations helped her ward off the cold, but I was getting warmer.

None of this escaped Kellie's notice, and as I neared the entrance to the catacombs, she rejoined me in the line, crowding out the poor young woman I had rescued from the elements.

"Oh, did I scare away your little friend?" Kellie teased. I just smiled, knowing that I had done my good deed for the day. 

Chivalry is not dead.