Good Americans When They Die, Go To Paris

Last night, I chuckled to myself as I read back through all of these Paris posts. I sound completely awestruck; full of wide-eyed wonder and adoration.

I never thought I'd be the one to--pardon my french--lose my shit over a city that tends to be excruciatingly idolized, but as these things go, Paris blew me away. Even Tiho felt its magnetism, and that's saying something, as he's a typical European who snickers at Americans who over-utilize adjectives. (guilty as charged!)

I don't know how to adequately do this city justice. Paris is unlike any place I've ever visited, and I have a strong hunch it will sustain that title for a long time.

Oliver Wendell Holmes once said, "Good Americans when they die, go to Paris." I know I'm going to be extra good in this life so I become one of those lucky souls in my next.

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In unrelated but equally as monumental news: Happiest birthday wishes to my stellar little sis, Emma. Twenty-two today, hoorah!