Paris, je t'aime.

I've never been great at following directions. The insert that comes with my hair dye says to do a number of things I never do, including a 48-hour skin allergy test. Or not dying hair with product in it. Or not using shampoo within 24 hours of dying.

It's not that I feel the directions don't apply to me, it's just that the hassle of having to follow them outweighs the possible consequences. It all comes down to cost/benefit analysis. So what if my scalp itches like crazy while I'm waiting the 15 minutes for the dye to seep in? Too late for that. So what if my dye job is a little splotchy? I'll push through. So what if shampooing before recommended means the dye doesn't take? It'll make the splotchiness fade faster.

This same logic is what led me to have an outdoor wedding in July. I knew it was misguided, but it was the month that worked best for us. 90 degrees, folks. And I was trapped under roughly seventy layers of tulle. But the good news is that the pictures didn't manage to capture sweat. Everyone actually looks quite glowy and lovely. Though watching Chad dab at his face with a handkerchief throughout the ceremony was pretty humorous. At least he didn't pass out.

All the guidebooks say not to go to Paris in September. Some auto show, or something. But that's the time that works best for us, and the weather should be wonderful. So, auto enthusiasts be damned, Chad and I have got a hotel in the 16th Arrondissement halfway between the Arc de Triomphe and the Tour Eiffel for seven nights and two seats on a direct flight to Charles de Gaulle with our names on 'em.

I know that no matter how much I screw up a dye job, my hair always turns out fine. Sometimes better than fine. And our wedding was hot, but it was beautiful. We're going to Paris in three months, baby, and whatever happens, I have a feeling that the benefits in this case will far outweigh the possible cost.