Today marks a special occasion: there are only 100 days left until the wedding! The weeks leading up to my departure for Paris were a mad rush of finalizing wedding-related details, stuffing invitations, securing a DJ, etc., so that Jamal didn’t have to deal with them in my absence. Once I return home in July, all that’s left to do is have my dress fitted (really sorry to my seamstress in advance for all the croissant-weight I’m carrying) and, well, pay the final balance on everything. Weddings are so sneaky, you pay a deposit to every vendor and then two weeks before the big day, boom. So expensive! So unnecessary! I have a post I need to write about why I am a dead-beat bride, but I’ll save that for another time. Here’s a sneak peek: I’m not excited about the wedding. I’m excited about the marriage. I don’t want to be a bride. I want to be a wife.
Anyway, needless to say, I am excited to be marrying Jamal, who, I might add, arrives in Paris next weekend. Finally! Six weeks is a long time to go without seeing your fiancé, but I’ve been managing. Okay, no offense, Jamal, but I’ve been doing just fine keeping myself occupied and distracted. Ladurée! The Eiffel Tower! Butter! CHEESE! But last week, I had lunch in the Jardin du Luxembourg by the Fountain de Medicis (for the second time in as many days, I might add) and I saw this wonderful elderly couple on my way out. They were holding hands and just sitting there, not a care in the world, not an itinerary to stick to, and it made me really, really miss him. I thought, “That is what I want.” I want to be 80 years old and in Paris with Jamal and just sitting there, soaking it all in. Promise me we can do that? (You know, unless when we’re 80 we can’t afford to come to Paris because we’re still paying off this wedding because somebody just had to have short ribs on the menu.)