Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world.—Marilyn Monroe
Last thing I heard from our twelve year old flight captain was, “We have a 700 mile tail wind (or something; I’m not good with numbers) and will be arriving in Paris yesterday” (seems like; I’m not good with math). Suffice to say, our flight was turbulent AF (pausing here so The Husband can Google AF in Urban Dictionary and then tell me, “You’re better than that”.).
Because of that blasted tail wind, we arrived an hour early (Read: One hour less sleep). We schlepped four suitcases up to our 5th floor apartment and I regretted (for just a moment) my Bag o’ Shoes. Not sure what happened there, I usually pack uber light but this year, Eleventh Hour, I drug out a large suitcase and filled it with shoes. Normally, a Bag O’ Shoes is the stuff life is made of and I should’ve gone to bed in smiles. But let’s say if bad nights were a dog show, last night would’ve taken Best in Show.
Thus, we spent today in a near zombie state walking. And walking. And walking (I’m super glad I had comfy shoes). Had lunch at a sweet one-hundred year old restaurant called Moulin de la Galette in Montmartre.
Make a wish for me, mes amis, that while logging miles on my multiple shoes, I happen to run into any of the Kardashians this week. I’d even settle for Rob.