My husband and I never took a honeymoon. We were too busy doing crazy things such as having babies and raising little boys when we got married. Flash forward two years and change, when we wake up one morning to find three kids in the bed. For those of you keeping count, that's more children than years married. Fortunately one blissful child-free day chock full of cleaning house type chores, comes a random text from my husband: "I am planning our honeymoon. FOR REAL. Please send me a list of suitable destinations." I text back immediately. "Paris. Barcelona. Tulum. Maldives." Paris and Tulum took the top two spots without hesitation. And then Paris won after a flurry of furious texting. It's settled. Paris. September. Fortunately one of my fellows says it's a spectacular fall/winter city. (Well, he says it's just a spectacular city regardless).
Ah. Paree. How I have dreamed of thee my whole life. So much so that Nana is already booked to make sure I don't miss you. I have this vision of how our honeymoon will be. A quaint hotel on a quiet side street, allowing for romance and glimpses of the Seine and cityscapes. Dining in delightful cafes. "Excusez-moi, pourrais-je avoir un pain au chocolat?" in flawless french to the waiter. Strolling arm in arm along the Champs Elysees. Dazzling in Dior. Charming in Chanel. Glittering in Galliano. Of course my highlight would be having Karl Lagerfeld himself recognize me as I troll some vintage shop, commenting how he's seen me when he stays at his Vermont home, and waves hello. "Bonjour Karl! Ou est la Louvre? Merci! Profitez de votre journee." Again, such flawless French!
Of course, I have a sneaking suspicion that my Paris dreams are not going to play out anything like that or take place anywhere near Rue de Cambon. My French is rusty as best (and that's a generous statement). I am quite sure Karl's Vermont home has never heard of the zip code 05446 and sticks to one more remote and posh sounding. One might also be willing to bet the boys college funds that the closest thing to Chanel that Keith allows me is to tour dear Coco's gravesite. My cafe dreams and chocolate croissants.... totally safe. Here's to Paris dreams and happy honeymoon planning.
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