Pinch me moments in Paris


You know those moments in life that are so freaking babein’ that you have to pinch yourself? But not too hard because you sure as hell don’t wanna wake up from such a heavenly stupor? Well I suppose that if you're a super positive Pamela they can happen a lot but if you’re a run of the mill Ronda like me and practically every other human bean on earth, bar maybe Ghandi (who, by the way, must have been EXHAUSTED from all that loving and general goodliness because I can barely even muster a genuine smile before 9am) then they don’t come round all that often….but when a pinch me moment does rock up at your door it’s like Christmas and chocolate and Channing rolled into one.
One of these moments unexpectedly walloped me right in the face a few years back when leaving our Parisian apartment after months of winter. Paris can be fit as in the worst of weather but god when the sun shines it’s literally something else. And for the first time in months it was shining and people were laughing and jovial and gay. In my romanticized version of events there was French organ music, the smell of croissants floating through the streets and I was wearing a beret, but to be quite honest I was probably just full of cheese and not looking forward to 4 hours of excitable French kids. But such is the power of nostalgia, eh. Either way, I felt like the happy Gods had just smited me with their happiest happy-smites. And it was good. Pinch me (but not too hard). 

Well, to be quite honest with you I feel like I went off on a superfluously wordy tangent up there so to quote directly from American writer, Henry Miller, who not only summed the hell out of my feelings but also did it succinctly;
When spring comes to Paris the humblest mortal alive must feel that he dwells in paradise.
And I couldn't agree more. As always you can join the party on  Twitter,  Bloglovin' Facebook and Instagram. Super huge big kisses for you if you do, I cherish every single last one of ya.

No comments