The summer I got married, 2002, was the best summer of my life.
I spent the first 8 weeks in Paris in a summer associate position at my former law firm. I had so much fun that I cried the whole way to the airport because I didn't want to leave. I ate so much delicious food that my mother exclaimed when she arrived for her 2 week visit "oh dear God, you'll never fit in your wedding dress!" I went to the French Open, the Opera, Disneyland Paris, and on so many day trips I could bore you to tears. I had the most beautiful apartment near the Eiffel Tower, on a ritzy street called Rue de Passy, and when I walked out of my front door I looked up at its glittering lights. My office was on the Champs Elysee, a block away from the Arc de Triomphe. These two things combined into a constant reminder of my Parisien existence.
The next 5 weeks were spent in a small but functional (and absurdly expensive) studio in New York City's Times Square that I shared with two other friends and her poodle. And Josh visiting on weekends. I still don't know how we did it, but we survived. In an effort to work the pain au chocolat and tarte tatin from my chunky ass in time for my wedding, I ran every morning in Central Park. There were days that I pinched myself in order to believe it wasn't a dream.
2 weeks before my wedding on August 25, I stopped working and dedicated myself to the important and all-consuming details. You know, table signs, bridesmaid gifts, unpacking presents... it was hard. Of course, that day was the culmination of my summer and definitely the happiest day of my life thus far. I got married and we were off to Negril, Jamaica for 8 glorious and mind-numbing days.
As I said, best summer of my life. Please don't hate me.
This summer has not quite measured up. I'm not sure why. It could be that I actually have to work, and of course that puts a damper on my attending tennis tournaments and going to theme parks on a Tuesday. Josh is gone, and of course that lowers the fun threshold as well. I am in Boston, not Paris or New York, and while Boston is glorious- there is just something missing. The weather in Boston has felt a bit like playing the lottery, a guessing game of what-to-wear-today, and that annoys me. All good reasons, I suppose.
I've decided that I will just have to remind myself (and now you) of all the unfortunate things that happened from the summer of 2002 to cheer myself up.
Hmmmmm, there was the time when I took my NYC roommate's poodle out for a walk and I felt some drops splashing me and heard the sound of running water. I looked for the source and saw an ass staring me in the face while a woman bent over and shot urine onto the sidewalk from between two parked cars. That was lovely. I stepped in dog shit about 72 times while walking the streets of Paris, most notably on the way to work many mornings so that everywhere I went in the office building, the eau de merde lingered. There was also smoking allowed inside the law firm, of course, so I would choke and cough in my office as the night secretaries puffed away. None of those things have happened yet this summer, thank goodness.
Who knows, maybe this summer will turn out to be my best ever! Plus, none of our summer associates have jumped into rivers during an outing, so its shaping up pretty well.