So, I've been offline for a few days. Unexpectedly.
I'm going to say it's been one of the strangest weekends of my short but fabulous life. Strange good, not strange bad. But bizarre, nonetheless.
Friday afternoon, I was sat at home, minding my own business and trying to muster up the energy to organise some friends for a few drinks that evening. My crackberry pinged and I got an email from a 'dating' website that I've been known to use from time to time.
"Are you in Paris? Do you speak English? Do you fancy a beer?" it said.
I went online and looked at the profile of the guy who had sent it. This isn't something I do so often, but I thought I'd have a look.
Turns out it was a cute looking American guy. Very cute looking. But I'm big enough and daft enough to know that these things can be deceptive. Anyway, I had nothing else planned, so I thought I'd accept his offer of a quick beer that evening.
Now, he was on his way to the Opera, so we met at 5.30 for a quick drink beforehand. It's not often I get a date who turns up in a full tuxedo, but this guy did. Seems he was doing the Opera in style. I like that in a man.
We chatted over the beer and laughed like fools. He was cute. Chunky, handsome, funny and cute. Boy, was he.
Looking at my watch, I realised that he was running late for the performance. He ran off to the show, but not before we'd arranged that I'd meet him after the Opera and we'd continue our conversation.
And that's where it went. I've never spent four days in a row with someone I just met. I've certainly never spent four nights in a row with them. But that's what happened.
We spent the whole weekend (and Monday) together and it was amazing. Funny, hilarious and stupîd. Romantic and a bit dirty. Mostly, it was relaxed, easy and comfortable. I've never really slipped into that with someone so easily and he either - is what he said, anyway.
We were together from the moment I met him outside the Opera Bastille on Friday to this morning, when I left his hotel to come to the office and he took the shuttle to the airport.
And thereby lies the problem. He's heading back to Miami today. I'm still in Paris.
Why do I do this to myself?
I think I need therapy.
But meanwhile, le Parisien, the Boy himself, is back from his long trip out of town this weekend.
Let's just hold our horses.