We went to Paris on our honeymoon. We considered a lot of places before settling on it, but we wanted to go somewhere that neither of us had ever been, and would likely never get to, once we had kids. So off to Paris it was.
We almost didn't get there, though. A couple of weeks before our wedding, our passports were lost in the mail, when being sent to the French Embassy for our visas. We had to make a quick trip to Miami (we lived in Florida at the time) and got them replaced in a day. Finally got the visas, and we were good to go.
We spent about a week in Paris before heading south, to the Mediterranean. DH's grandmother had given us a week of her timeshare and we had swapped it for a condo on the beach. Nothing fancy, mind you -- they tried to give us bunkbeds, for heaven's sake, and hubby did everything but kiss his ring to try and explain that we were married, and wanted to sleep like married people.
Our condo had a balcony with a view of the beach. I would wash our clothes out in the sink, then hang them on the balcony to dry while we were swimming and sunning. One morning, I was running a bit late, so I told hubby to go on down to the beach and I'd meet him there. Washed the clothes out, and when I was hanging them up, saw that hubby was talking to some sweet young thing, down on the sand.
When I got down to our spot, she had disappeared and hubby was in the water. I took a quick dip, then saw that the mademoiselle was back, talking to the (new) hubby again. When I got out of the water, she was gone again. "What in the world is she doing," I asked the hubby. "You're not gonna believe it," he said.
"She doesn't speak a word of English. I had my headphones on when she first came up, and she wanted to listen, so I gave them to her. She sung U2, With or Without You, word for word, in English. Then she asked me out.....in French." I guess hubby's four years of high school French were paying off in dividends. He said he told her he was married -- NEWLY married, and she responded that he was in France, and in France, no one cared if you're married.
I can think of at least ONE person who cared. And the chick must've thought I was gonna do some kind of driveby, cause every time I showed up, she disappeared. Guess at least TWO people cared.
But oh well, it's all good -- if you knew the hubby, you would understand that it doesn't really matter how many chickies hit on him, cause he comes home with me. And he's gonna take me to Paris again in 2012 -- maybe we'll find his friend there. And maybe she knows some English now. If not, I guess he'll have to play her "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp."