I’ve been thinking about the sheer number of naked ladies of Paris. Naked STONE ladies, that is. Most of them, oddly enough, were set in place at a time when good girls were covered from head to toe. I wonder how those girls felt as they walked around the stone nudities of Paris! I remember reading a funny book about two young American women arriving in Paris in 1920 on their college graduation trip [Our Hearts Were Young and Gay, by Cornelia Otis Skinner and Emily Kimbrough. A great read, with funny illustrations]. They were totally innocent about men, had been to an all-girls high school and then Bryn Mawr, and went around the Louvre gasping. Not all the statues had fig leaves.