(Yeah, I know this is a really old photo, but my thought process goes like this: If Joni ever sees this it may piss her off just enuff to come see me and kick my ass) And I would cherish the ass-kicking. For the rest of my life.
We spent an inordinate amount of time in our lovely, comfy little love shack of a hotel room.
I had fetched along some of my most – favorite movies to share with Ela—Yes, at this point, she had instructed me to call her “Ela” because that was the moniker she went by, but reserved for her ‘closest friends.”—I figured ‘Lovers’—but whatever. I had made it to “Ela Status.” Hoped this boded well for our relationship.
Got one of the Hotel Staff to hook us up with a DVD Player so we could watch the movies I had brought to the soiree:
We wasted (well, not wasted to me) a lot of time holed up in our little room watching these movies, drinking vin rouge, and making love. I was in Heaven. I had already seen much of The Paris I was interested in seeing (This was not my First ‘Paris Rodeo’—Had been to Paris several times already. As had she.
So we just drank, made love, watched movies, and fell deep IN-LOVE (for the most part)
We did go out, usually in the late evenings to stroll down the Champs-Élysées and hang out at the Café George V.
We were having a wonderful Paris Experience.
But, it was rapidly coming to an end.
She had to return to her ‘Main-Mundane’ in Springfield and I had to return to ‘Le Sandbox’ that was Iraq. We kinda grew morose.
Then I had one of those ‘epiphany things.’
“Ela,” I broached. “Why cannot we just extend our stay here a few more days? I can change our plane tickets, sort things out with the hotel. My job won’t fire me. I am too good at it, as I am sure you are at yours. Let’s stay a few more days.”
She blinked at me through teary eyes, embraced me, kissed me and said, “Oh Yes! Oh Hell Yes!”
Then I got on the telephone to sort out all the logistics and the dice were cast.
It turned out to be a not-so-very-good crap-shoot, but it took some time for that realization to make manifest.
I love Shakespeare. I love words. I love the simple fact that the only good advice my father once gave to me were the words out of his mouth: “Son, words have meaning and their coinage, well spend them well…”
Now… I am not that too heady. In fact, I am simple. Yet I do still love the coinage of a good phrase. Indeed I do.
Therefore, I leave you this. As all good Bloggers do, I desire a Stage! My Kingdom for a Stage!