le festin

"Jamais on ne redira que la course aux étoiles, ça n’est pas pour moi
Laisser moi vous émerveillez, prendre mon envol..."

I was going to say, "This week I am all about the French." But now that I think about it, this week really isn't about the French at all, though the entire day was filled with random French lyrics (which I don't understand), Baudelaire, and fantasizing about "drinking wine at the foot of the Eiffel tower and grabbing baguettes from the patisserie." Haha (or, shall I say, "Ooh lala"?).

It's getting late, and I don't have time to explain. Therefore, I'll leave you to connect the dots. Today, I paid $10 to have my palm read, fully aware that the girl in the black tank top was most certainly going to scam me with a slew of generic answers. The guy sitting next to me on the train smelled of bacon, and I spent a mile and a half secret-smiling. And most importantly, I've decided that my purpose in life is to have the "Before Sunrise" conversation and, ultimately, connection with a stranger or someone unexpected.

So. The fortune. The bacon man. It should be perfectly clear by now why I want to go to France, yes? It's enough to get me excited for hours at a time. I'll be equipped with just three words: Chanel, Louboutin, Dior. Oh, and Louis Vuitton. I'll smoke cigarettes without feeling smoker's guilt. I'll walk under the chestnut trees when it rains because that's when Paris smells the sweetest (extra points if you know where this is from). I know there's only a small chance for this to become a reality; there are too many financial, safety, blah blah reasons, as with everything. But there's a certain luxury in hoping with no real sense of expectation. There's no danger of being let down, not with something as beautiful and romantic as (the idea of) going to Paris.