Save the date, ladies and gents. I'm getting married, and I'm getting married in Paris.
This morning, this bright-shining Sunday morning, I finally found The One. We're talking butterflies and cloud-nine feelings and everything.
I met him at the Marché de Neuilly in between scoping out fresh fruit and bargaining for scarves. I couldn't tell you his name or the color of his eyes... but oh, that sandwich.
I knew it was love when he handed me the most perfectly made sandwich I've had in a long, long time. As soon as I stepped into the market I stopped in my tracks at the sight of my beloved pita bread. I think I started to break into a sweat when I saw this man put garlic spread and baba ghanoush and tabbouleh and chicken kebab all in one heavenly wrap. A Heavenly. Wrap. It was served nice and warm, and I literally couldn't stop smiling long enough to take a bite. I never thought to put all these Middle Eastern favorites into one sandwich, but now I know. He even gave me a meat sambousek for free (See? He loves me, too.)
After admitting to myself that I couldn't keep walking around and multi-task as long as that wrap was uneaten, I sat by a fountain and gave 110% attention to my unexpected lunch. A man selling flowers tried calling out to me that his plants were better than my sandwich. Okay, Monsieur, maybe if you had falafel growing on those branches I'd take you more seriously.
The market was definitely a cool trip, but I think I started on way too high of a note to really care about anything past that Lebanese stand.
And okay, fine, maybe I'm in love with this man for the wrong reasons. (I've made this mistake once before. I thought I had a crush on Mark from the Highlander cafeteria, but it was actually just those chicken caesar wraps he made that grasped my heart.)
At one point, I think my Lebanese sandwich fiance said something to me along the lines of, "You know, I am not dating anyone. Heh. Heh?" But that makes this story a lot less cute and a lot more creepy. So I'm going to ignore that part just like I ignored him when he made the comment.
I accidentally discovered that this market is walking distance from the apartment. So next Sunday afternoon, you know where to find me. Until then, good luck trying to get, "tabbouleh, tabbouleh tabbouleh, makes me shake, shake shake my booty," out of your head.