I’ve done it again.
Dropped entirely off the radar, that is.
Not that it has made much of a difference to any of you.
But I would like to think that someone has noticed.
If you didn’t notice, please don’t say anything.
I like to live in a dream world.
Which reminds me, did I mention that I spent a weekend in Paris?
Really. I actually spent a weekend in Paris.
I need to repeat myself because this is not the norm for me.
Normally I say things like “I spent the weekend in Manteca.”
For those who are not from the Bay Area, Manteca is a perfectly nice central valley town that is a bit of a destination for baseball players as they have a very nice baseball complex with very many fields.
It isn’t much like Paris, though.
Anyway, I actually did spend a weekend in Paris. I went there because my husband, the world traveler, was on an extended multi-city business trip in Europe, and, quite simply, he did not want to come home and find that I had literally died of envy. So he arranged for me to join him in the middle, over a weekend during which he actually did not have to do too much work.
In Paris. He arranged for me to join him in Paris.
I love my husband.
This was a sentimental trip for us. He also arranged for the same thing on our honeymoon. We went to London, and he arranged for a surprise few days in Paris.
I love Paris.
I plan to go on and on about how much I love Paris on another day.
But for now, let’s just say that I have not been too interested in blogging because I have been: A) Getting Ready For Paris; B) Going to Paris; and C) Recovering From Going To Paris.
I know. I kind of hate me, too.