A Tuesday in Paris
A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.
Mignon McLaughlin
Tuesday, December 16, 2025 – 3:00pm
Looking December chic in black slacks and a purple cashmere turtleneck sweater, The Pretty Blonde crosses her legs and patiently sits on a park bench near Entrance #2 of the Eiffel Tower. Like a jaded Parisian muse, she freely ignores the river of gawking tourists, hand-holding couples, and packs of excitable school children roaming the spacious park-like grounds of this legendary edifice. Instead, her radiant blue eyes are focused on her phone, playing yet another riveting game of Solitaire.
I, meanwhile, am losing my mind, frantically searching for David, a man I’ve never met nor spoken to. He’s the reason we’re here.
It’s Day Eleven of our two-week excursion to Europe. Conceived to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary, Anne, born and raised in Mexico City and as fluent in Spanish as she is in Californian, got her wish and last week added the Andalusia region of Southern Spain to her list of been-there/done-thats. Two nights in Madrid were mandatory, of course; it was our third time together enjoying all this wonderfully vibrant city has to offer. Then it was two nights in Granada, a quirky Spanish college town featuring the must-see Alhambra but not much else. Seville, conversely, was everything Granada was not; fun, festive, and fabulous. Everything about Seville, from the food, architecture, castles, churches and culture, far exceeded our expectations. The citizenry of Seville takes great pride in their energetic city, and it showed in their bright Christmas decorations and clean streets. We can’t recommend enough this passionate city of lingering late nights, slow casual mornings, and deliciously unpretentious tapas restaurants. Who knew we’d learn to love oxtail.
Wedged between Spain and Paris was a two-day stopover in Bruges, Belgium. I’ve been told countless times by countless people that a visit to this medieval village known for it’s canals, cobblestone streets, and chocolate was worthy of my Bucket List. And they were right. Bruges is magical, a picture-perfect fairytale brought to life, elegantly understated and romantic. I can honestly say I’ve never enjoyed a better cup of rich hot chocolate, nor a plate of seasoned mussels, than I did in Bruges. I can also honestly say I’ve never felt more claustrophobic than trying to navigate the hordes of humanity trolling Bruge’s Christmas markets, cookie-cutter kiosks selling mainly Belgium waffles, Belgium chocolates, Belgium fries, and Belgium socks. You get the idea. At least they were better than the cheesy Christmas markets we’ve seen so far in Paris. They make county fair stalls look like Tiffany’s.
Tuesday, December 16, 2025 – 3:10pm
WHERE THE @*#! IS DAVID?
I’ve told a thousand lies to convince The Pretty Blonde to come to the Eiffel Tower. This is our third trip to Paris, and while the city’s emblematic symbol of delicate lattice and towering heights is a draw in itself, we’re long past the need to take yet another up close and personal photo of this skeletal wonder.
Anne is under the impression that we’re waiting on a text message from the Tower’s glamorous Jules Verne restaurant, allowing us to take the elevator to enjoy a glass of Boudreaux and watch a romantic French sunset. The clock is ticking, though, and I think she’s on to my scam.
Fortunately, the day has not been a total loss. An hour-long morning tour of the renovated Notre-Dame cathedral was worth its weight in buttery croissants. Saying this restored graceful giant and silent guardian was breathtaking doesn’t do it justice. Unlike our last visit to Notre-Dame in 2009, when it was made dark and filthy from centuries of candlelight, this sacred heartbeat of Paris has seen its luminous stone walls, crisp Gothic lines, and glowing vaults meticulously and artistically cleansed of time and smoke, its reverence deepened by survival. If a church could have a new car smell, this was it.
Tuesday, December 16, 2025 – 3:15pm
No sooner had I plopped myself next to Anne in a despondent huff than did a tall, handsome, fifty-something Frenchman draped in a Nikon camera and reeking of cigarette smoke introduce himself in broken English. “Hello, I’m David.” I’ve never been more excited to hear three words in my life.
David spends the next hour escorting us around the Eiffel campus, across the bridge in front of the tower (known as the Pont d’Iéna), and along the banks of the river Seine. Like a director of the gooiest French romantic movie ever made, David instructs us towards the most amorous poses you can think of, from getting on a knee to kiss Anne’s hand, and her grabbing my sweater like a lustful teenager. He even tells me to put my arm around Anne’s waist, lift her leg, and bend her over backward like we’re Fred and Ginger. It’s a miracle we didn’t fall over.
The light from the late afternoon sun is perfect. The clicks, whirs, and whizzes of David’s camera capture one of the most memorable and romantic hours of our lives. But it’s only going to get better.
Tuesday, December 16, 2025 – 4:15pm
David gets on his phone. Within minutes a striking brunette with a luscious French accent walks up and joins us on the Right Bank of the Seine. Her name is Jade, and she’s David’s 26-year-old daughter. With the river and the Eiffel Tower positioned behind us, she asks Anne and me to hold hands, and begins reading from a prepared script. The Pretty Blonde has no idea what’s happening. Perfect.
We are renewing our wedding vows. And just like I did on our 20th anniversary in Maui, I once again managed to surprise my wife, life partner, and best friend. Hey, it’s how I roll.
After several minutes of matrimonial musings, Jade pauses to give us a few minutes to ourselves. Holding hands while looking deep into each other’s eyes, timeless words like “love,” “soulmate,” “best friend,” “children,” “grandchildren,” and “wonderful life” pour out of us like wine into a glass, each utterance aged to perfection. Real, raw, and intense, tears of pride and joy pour out of both of us. It’s one of the most intimate moments of our lives.
God willing, I’ll surprise The Pretty Blonde again on our 60th. I’ll keep you posted.
