Follow The Yellow Brick Road

After having potentially fought off lions, tigers and bears (oh my!) in my dreams the night before,  I awoke the next morning in my cozy little bed with visions of Aussietastic yumminess dancing in my head... And his name hilariously misspelled in my phone, prompting me to send him a quick message wondering if I had met a mysterious man the night before. While I was off to work for the day, he was off to explore more of Paris. His agenda was simply to galavant from around Chatelet in the center of town, all the way up the Champs Elysees to see the Arc de Triomphe. I put in my wine-loving two cents and suggested he meander through the Christmas Market and feast on vin chaud, sadly admitting that while I work in that general vicinity, drinking on the job is generally frowned upon. Instead, this gentleman from afar decided he would stop by and visit me during my 30-minute break... I really couldn't think of anything better than a warm scrumptious man on such a frosty cold afternoon so I happily accepted his offer.

Not only that, but he somehow wanted to see me again during the twilight hours! That glimmer from the Emerald City was certainly getting a hell of a lot more sparkly. So, we made plans to meet at a typical French restaurant in Odeon. I had been to this place for the first time just a few weeks prior, to taste Frog Legs for the very first time. On this occasion, I demanded that the Australian have his first sampling of escargots, watching in delight as he tried so hard not to gag on gooey garden creatures.

After dinner and dessert, we walked across one of the moonlit ponts over the Seine in pursuit of nighttime frivolity. Having long since been acquainted with Cafe Oz, the Aussie bar chain sprinkled around France, I felt it was only right to bring this strapping chap to the Parisian land down under. It's the kind of place that feeds into all manner of stereotype: no yellow brick road per say,  but adorned with crocodiles and pushing Fosters on tap, a beverage all Aussies unequivocally refuse to imbibe. Instead, we indulged in profoundly overpriced cocktails while spending most of our time nestled into each other, sometimes appropriately and sometimes less so... Not that I would EVER do something as ridiculous as make out in public, I am a LADY. That is why one of the bartenders definitely did NOT throw a coaster at us with the words "get a room" inscribed on the back.

That is also why I definitely did not go home with him for the rest of the evening and get up to all sorts of trixy mischief. At least, not before we found ourselves at the door of the airbnb he was staying at, and realized that there was apparently already a party going on inside. Once we finally entered, it seemed we had stepped into a denizen of Russian Mafia members. With a glass of vodka lemonade in our hands, I wasn't so sure I hadn't actually fallen asleep in Dorothy's field of poppies. Perhaps the rest of the night was just a hallucination as well, but I certainly awoke to another whole day of enchantment...