Little Things

It’s the little things.

Like drinking “mineral water” instead of “bottled water.” Finding waiters more appreciative of an opinion than a tip. Buying a crepe at Trocadero and watching the Tour Eiffel sparkle, thinking the last time I did this I was still in college, without a spare penny to spend, but enjoying the sa20151104_132223me view with good friends.

Or seeing the ring on my finger when I type or drink or reach for something, and feeling a tiny bit more grown up.

It’s early morning of Day 2 in our Paris honeymoon. The wedding was Sunday. Amazingly, unpredictably, everything happened without a hitch. Nobody got upset, nobody got offended, and certainly everyone down to the tiniest baby and the oldest couple on the dance floor had the time of their lives. Then we packed ourselves up, sent the cat to Grandma’s  and went off to France. 20151104_132442

Being in another country is a lot like being married, I find. You speak another language (wife, not fiancee.) The food tastes different… in France, the meals are like sacks of bricks you’re very happy to carry. It’s heavy, but it doesn’t leave you feeling bad (REAL food. I had a lamb tagine yesterday that tasted like it’d been grazing on actual grass) When you’re married, rather, when I’M married, I’m constantly thinking about whether my wife has had enough, or if she wants to pick off my plate. Whether she will even wait before nicking the perfect bite before I get to it. You’re terrified of making a faux pas, but ironically, nothing you do can go wrong. Everybody gives you a wide allowance for your behavior.

I think the thing I like most of all is the softness of the roses.  20151104_151400


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