For our wedding-honeymoon abroad (see yesterday’s post for the news!), we decided to stay awhile. It’s like this: skip the big expensive wedding, get a really long vacation to France. Also, get married when you’re old, like me, and have been saving. That helps.
We’re breaking the trip into three parts: a special hotel for the wedding, an unbelievable outing to Reims courtesy Puddinn’ and her husband (you will squeal), and a real Paris apartment for the remaining days.
A Paris apartment!
I’ve been carrying a faded dream of a Paris apartment around in my head for decades. I imagined something high up, with wood floors and glorious vintage furniture, worn just so. I pictured grays and golds and lots of white walls — a garret from the storybooks.
Look at what we just rented:
Can you even stand it? The beams! The mirrors! My little black wedding dress hanging in that pretty armoire.
(I just stood up and did a small dance in the kitchen.)
It’s in the Marais, on the top floor, with skylights and views over the Paris rooftops. It was even in our budget, which makes everything feel meant to be. There’s even a sleeping loft, with windows in the roof. The French really work the romance, even in 600 square feet.
Now, can we discuss the shoemakers’ conspiracy to rid the world of elegant black satin pumps? OK, that will be tomorrow.