Dear Reader,
Five years ago, my friend Ms Melinda told me that it was her dream to go to Paris. I made supportive noises and asked when she planned to go.
Ms Melinda, with a sad wistful little smile: We've always planned to go someday. But I figured out a long time ago that someday was code for never.
Me: 🤯 💔 😢
I cannot explain how awful that was to hear her say she never expected her dream to come true. We are writers, we are dreamers of dreams. Also getting on an airplane to go spend a weekend in Paris is fundamentally not much different to getting on a plane to do the same thing
in New York.
So being the wonderful, caring, ever-so-slightly overbearing friend I am... I promptly started campaigning for her and Mr Melinda to book said trip. It only took me two years to get them there. Ms Melinda and I were going to attend the 2020 Self Publishing Formula Live conference
in London and then the three of us were going to take the Eurostar across to Paris where I'd play tour guide and show them around the city for four or five days. (If you've read The Wild Prince, you probably already suspected that Paris is one of my favorite cities and I've visited it a couple of times before.)
The trip was planned for March 2020. We made it as far as the conference before the You-Know-What happened and the Paris part of our itinerary was called off.
As they scurried back to the states, Ms Melinda let out this heartbreaking little sigh and said, "See? I told you someday meant never."
Me: 😤🤬 (& you know they don't have an emoji that accurately conveys
we'll-just-see-about-that.)
And last week after five years of scheming, I finally got her there!
[cue photo montage set to the Edith Piaf's La Vie En Rose]
