Girls’ Weekend in Paris

I am just a princess.

The Queen Mum of travel addiction is my dear friend and gentlest reader MK. I got a fevered email from her just the other evening:

Just home from Costa Rica, let’s talk Paris baby.

She had just returned from a week-long vacation with three other adults and four children under the age of four. The airline lost her luggage, they almost missed their flight home due to a parade featuring horses, tequila and gunfire, and she was still finding sand in her kids’ ears, fingernails and butt cracks.

And now, she was planning a girls’ weekend in Paris with me and a few close girlfriends.

A woman after my own heart, my MK. I immediately rang.

“Nobody better get pregnant before then, because it’s going to be all about the wine. I haven’t been able to have a drink with you in five years!”

My liver groaned.  I giggled.  We started talking hotels.

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