From the air, although the city was draped in black, the flickering lights of Paris flashed excitement … the warm yellow lights blinked like jewels from where I sat enjoying their welcoming glow as my dream was becoming a reality. Behind me was a young boy with a shrill in his voice, exclaimed his question to his father asking adamantly to pinpoint where the infamous tower was. With the swinging movement of the plane, he searched the million blinkies patterned randomly, until from afar he sighted the Eiffel.
My heart leaped at his edict, and I strained to follow his pointing finger to the object of his excitement, as was mine.
I remember to be deliriously tired because of the unforeseen circumstances from a delayed flight of almost a day, losing sight of Bob as we were separated in Heathrow and finding each other amidst the chaos of disgruntled passengers … and finally, having been bailed out by the Lord from further inconvenience.
Every second it took before the touchdown was like a heaping teaspoon of sugar being mixed with my freshly brewed coffee … sweetening the pleasure of my cup of joy.
I never danced ballet, being in a tutu and wearing toe shoes, but it had been a dream to do so. And this adventure was like a glimpse of a dream minus the tutu … as I pirouetted in Paris, like a ballerina in my own prince’s arms!