Setting the Mood: American Girl in Paris, Part Une

If you’re following me on Instagram (and if you’re not, shame on you), you probably know that I have just arrived home from my first trip to Paris. For years I dreamt of being whisked away with the one I love to the city of lights, but once I realized taking myself was probably more likely if I wanted to make it there before I required special assistance during the airplane boarding process than waiting for the man of my dreams, I booked my ticket. I didn’t know what to expect, though my friends who are regular travelers gave me an extensive list of what to see, do, eat, and buy, so I didn’t know what to pack. I specifically remember speaking to my father before my departure when he said, “Well, you’re only going for a week. You won’t need to pack much.” Laughter ensued. Upon checking in at the airport, I had to muster my feminine wiles to avoid an overweight baggage fee. Fortunately, it wasn’t a very full flight. I’ve always said that pictures will never be good enough. Pictures may be worth a thousand words, but experiencing a city for yourself is something that can only be felt. New York, I love you, but Paris is my mistress.