When in Rome, err Paris

I've been tagged (hi, Wendy). I'm suppose to pull the fourth photo from the fourth folder and share that all with you. To be honest, it's boring. It's a picture of Wyatt at the cute, chubby age of 8 months, smiling into the camera with a Santa hat on. Of course, you all know that I don't like to play by rules anyhow, so let's just pretend that this was the fourth picture in the fourth folder.

Look closely, you can see the number 618, it was taken by me 618 days before the year 2000. (Doesn't the turn of the millennium seem like forever ago? Oh the memories of New Years Eve 1999, all silver-ballgown-dressed-up with this fancy black velvet top, pretty much all I do remember from that evening).

It was the second to the last day of a two week European trip. I was there with some of my closest friends who I studied in London with. We got to Paris that afternoon and couldn't wait to see the Eiffel Tower. After all, isn't it every girl's fantasy to be whisked away to Paris, climb to the top of the Tower hand-in-hand and him getting down on one knee to ask for your hand in marriage. The lights twinkling in the distance, on-lookers clapping, tears streaming down your face as you accept your beautiful engagement ring. Someone snaps your picture for you and your soon-to-be husband to treasure for a lifetime.

Except I was with my girlfriends, I was broken up with my now husband and it was really, well windy up there.

So, let this be a warning to all those dreaming of Paris. It's windy at the top of the Eiffel Tower, bring a hat or perhaps something equally as romantic as Paris itself like a scarf. You know the saying, when in Rome, err Paris...

I'll save Rome for another day.

(pardon the photo, this was again 618 days before 2000, so I didn't have one of those 'fancy' digital camera to fix this flash in the dark error.)