I'm a "foodie."

I didn't know I was a "foodie" until last week. In fact, I don't think I ever heard of a "foodie" before last week, but now that I know what one is, I confess, I'm a "foodie."

I was sitting on an airplane, coming back from Minneapolis and the nice looking, trim, 60-ish lady by the window started to tell me that she had been visiting her daughter as a birthday treat to help her daughter celebrate her 40th. I asked her if she had had a good visit and she said that she had and, in fact, her daughter and friends invited her to go to Paris in June, but she had declined.

"Why?" I asked. "It sounds like fun, going around France with your daughter and her friends."

"Because we have different ideas on what is fun."

"Well," I replied, "You could always do your own thing if you're not interested in museums and the like."

"Oh," she responded. "That's not it."

"It's not?" I said.

"No. Their idea of a good time is to go to restaurants, wineries, do some cheese tasting; basically just eat their way through and around France. They're what I refer to as "foodies."

I nodded as if I understood exactly what she meant. But in actuality, I knew in that brief conversation that there is no doubt, not a one, that I too am a "foodie."