At the week's beginning, I thought we were probably going to Munich this weekend. Turns out, no. However, by the middle of the week, we had Eurostar tickets to Paris and a hotel reservation just off the Champs. By week's end, we'll be sipping french presse and eating croissants at a sidewalk cafe. I'll take it.
There is but one problem with traveling to the fashion capital of the world...
Last night, Jason and I were playing a rousing game of Stuff the Suitcase. I was flitting about the bedroom throwing around silk scarves and the fiercest, most fabulous four-inch heels that ever were (I think you know the ones I'm talking about, Mrs. Beth Nori) and, despite my declaration that "I'm taking a range of coordinating key pieces", Jason suddenly says "I fear that you're going to arrive in Paris with a suitcase full of accessories but no actual clothes to wear." I consider this. I have visions of myself scrambling to fashion an ensemble out of hotel sheets, a belt and a Dior scarf.
Perhaps I'll lose some of the more frivolous items and try to make room for a shirt or two. But the fierce, fabulous four-inch heels are staying.