Midnight in Rugged Fox
Sweet Meryl, I can't even tolerate myself right now. My heart is beating like a dubstep track that is just about to drop. Let me tell you why.
I am traveling to Paris and London in less than a month, and it just occurred to me that I have ten million things do before the trip. The last major city I visited was Nanaimo so you can understand why I have good reason to be nervous.
Yesterday, I promised myself I would come straight home after work and get a good sleep followed by a solid jump on this morning. What I did not foresee was that, what started off as a casual Sunday night at the restaurant, soon turned into a scene from the “The Long Night.” After six hours of pizza and pasta mayhem, I could barely see straight once the parmesan had settled. It was not long after, that my plan for an early bedtime turned into two bottles of red wine and a three o’clock screening of the latest Game of Thrones episode. Darn you Cersei!
This morning, after rolling out of bed and on to the floor, I ran around the Fox Den for two hours trying to get everything done while also getting nothing done. I abandoned ship when it dawned on me that I was starving, dehydrated and all I had managed to get to the bottom of was my Instagram feed.
“Stop right now,” I told myself, before bopping two thumbs over my shoulders and singing, “thank you very much.”
“Now have a shower, put on some cute pants and go to the coffee shop and eat breakfast.”
And now here I am.
To say that I am excited about traveling to Europe would be an understatement. In preparation for the La Cité de L’Amour, I sat down the other day and watched Woody Allen’s “Midnight in Paris.” Afterwards, filled with inspiration, nostalgia and positive delight, I set about making an itinerary for my trip; but then was distracted by a sunny balcony and a crisp glass of rosé.
The only plan I have made thus far is that, once I touch down, I am going to channel my inner Oscar Wilde and be grateful for the fact that sodomy is no longer punished by hard jail time and brutal manual labour.
On a side note.
We also must talk outfits. I received an email this morning from a colleague of mine, saying that I should not venture out in Paris at night, unless I am dressed in a tailored navy-blue suit, with a crisp white shirt, slim tie and chestnut brown Oxfords. Peering anxiously into my closet afterwards, I became somewhat concerned to see my Pacific Northwest wardrobe staring back at me.
Can you still be a dandy when you are dressed like a lumberjack?
Alright, I must break now. What I dream for the trip is that I will bump into Armie Hammer, Richard Madden and Taron Egerton, and the three of us will get drunk on a patio listening to Maggie Rogers, Billie Holiday and Edith Piaf.
What I ultimately wish is that I will have an amazing time abroad with friends and family.