Coming to a Parisian Bistro Nowhere Near You

MK has booked her flight! She’s coming over for a weekend. Arriving Friday, leaving Monday. MK is a dedicated friend and most honored travel addict. Either that, or she just really likes red wine and baguettes.

I simply got a forwarded email of her flight details, but a screen shot speaks a thousand words. I often receive these kinds of emails from friends that have booked their flights. There’s something so, “HEY MA LOOK NO HANDS” about booking an international flight, isn’t there? It’s not just information. It’s airports and new smells and different languages and disrupted routines in the name of adventure.

Also coming over for the weekend is Heather, who is finally all settled in New England after spending a long time hauling her life back and forth between London and the States. Heather is the only person I know who has used the word “plinth” in conversation. She is elegant and much too lovely for words.

The girls might have forgotten, but this will not be the first time we’ve caused a ruckus in France. I distinctly remember hopping across the Spanish border for a bitchy, jet-setting lunch in Biarritz a few years ago. We’ve caused a ruckus in five countries, at last count.

Paris will never be the same.


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