Since I have been told lately people thoroughly enjoy the more ‘personal’ posts I put up here, I thought I would tell you all a story. Mainly, a story that continues to cause amusement between me and Ana to this day, after a year has gone by.
Our ~*~most wonderful day~*~ in Paris.
(It gets really long but it’s worth reading, trust me. I don’t know why I haven’t had this published or at least produced as a sitcom episode yet.)
So amidst a lot of excitement and attachment attempts from uninvited third parties, Ana and I finally managed to book a three-day weekend trip to Paris on occasion of her birthday on June 23rd. It’s pretty far up the month, we thought, so the weather will be lovely yet not too hot, and three days is enough to visit the Eiffel Tower, go to Versailles, have some macaroons and see about 5% of the Louvre and all the tourist-y things you can fit into 72h.
The nice things are fairly memorable, enough to leave a visual image. We did the things all PrettyRichGirlFashionStudents™ do when in Paris, like go around the legendary birthplace boutiques (Lanvin, Chanel, Vionnet, etc) and gawk and cry hopelessly at the windows and grasp at air. We saw the Hermès rooftop garden from afar and ooooh’d and aaaah’d at it before moving on to stuff our faces with four gigantic macaroons and iced tea at Ladurée and instantaneously regretting it and silently crying ‘my diet’ to ourselves. We somehow managed to go around the Petit Palais from behind before finding the door even though I’d been there already and was very sure of how to get to the entrance. But while that’s all very nice and dandy, it’s not what you’re here for. You’re here for the action.
Mainly, that day we went to Versailles. Which I am pretty sure sealed the deal on the whole ‘Best Friends’ thing because honestly if we survived that together without one of us violently murdering the other with a kitchen knife, we’re meant to be.