Let me just complain for a minute: Paris. I was supposed to go to Paris last May. Spring. In Paris. For a week. To visit a friend. Let me just repeat: Spring, in Paris, with other college juniors. And then the virus hit Europe and the trip was canceled. Understandable, it is a pandemic after all. So, imagine, how excited I was for “Emily in Paris” — a moment in October, in the middle of midterms, to leave Ann Arbor and enjoy the escapism that is, in essence, a glorified romantic comedy? Count me in.