Last night I dreamt

That Nick C and I were climbing all the way to the top of the Eiffel Tower.  The stairs were not metal, they were wooden.  The stairs were of impeccable quality, white, with gold moulding. They were very heavy and strong.  The staircase made a spiral and became smaller and smaller the further we got to the top.  Eventually the room at the top was like Alice in Wonderland in a box.  We went through the door, and Nick C vanished.  I never saw him again.  (Sorry, Nick!) He was replaced by my Wife, Renee.  

The Wife and I were overjoyed and excited to explore the "top" of Tour Eiffel, which was actually an expansive verdant neighborhood.  This twenty-first arrondissement was essentially a massive park, with restaurants, shops, and hotels sprinkled all around.  The Wife and I talked about going to "the edge", "the edge of the world", which was a formidable cliffside where we could view the rest of Paris from below.  We agreed to save that for the last thing we would do before we went down.

In the meantime, the Wife and I separated for a while, and I explored a small church on my own. As I left the church, I remember feeling worried about the Wife and I's meeting place, but there she was, sitting at a cafe table, reading a menu.  From a distance, I noticed how skinny and pretty she was, and I told her as much as I sat down beside her.  She blushed, and we had a sweet small kiss.  The menu looked not at all unlike a Denny's menu, with beautiful pictures of all the food on offer, and every thing was done in a typical tricolor French style.  It seemed all the cafe had to offer was breakfast.   Page after page of breakfast offerings.  When the waiter arrived I asked him (in English) whether the restaurant really did serve breakfast twenty-four hours.

And, then I woke up.











Mwah, ...