My dear Paris, you're impossibly chic. You dress up as - a lover, an icon, even Shakespeare then put up the greatest show - a fairytale, a lullaby. The artist who made women wear fancy pants like a city's affair.* You just do it better.
So, funny story. Where do I begin? I've been meaning to share this with you guys but was held back several times because I'm trying hard not to jinx it. After all, right after hinting a camel trip to the Sahara via a virtual 612 by 612 px - I got alarmed by MERS and subsequently cancelled the tour. More recently, you would have heard of the fatal Ebola. While Ron and I have been worrying on an every half-daily basis checking news like Instagram feed, praying in every direction, I ended up infected by a bacteria myself, staying cooped for the last four days owing to stomach flu. That bug left me with a shoulda coulda woulda. Screw it. Let the countdown begin. Oops, I forgot. Yes, here it is, I'm heading to Marrakech, Morocco! I can't even- Just gawk at these.