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READY FOR PARIS

My father called me today and told me that exactly 25 years ago I boarded his ship for a lightning visit (you should know my father was a captain) and whispered the following words in his ear on the bridge (that's what you call the place where you steer): “I have my driver's license!”

My driver's license. I didn't know how quickly I needed to get it, so I booked an intensive course and three months later I had the pink paper in my hands. My little car, a cute Renault 5, had been itching in the garage for half a year, begging for a ride.

“I have my driver's license!”

Well, he got that. I tossed my then-boyfriend into the passenger seat (he hadn't even had driving lessons yet, so you understand: the love didn't last long) and I stepped on the gas. To Paris. Just because I could.

In the meantime, the five has been traded for the Clio. The solid and slightly flashier version of my old love. The Clio fits in the petal LOVE (you should know that Renault has designed a petal for every stage of life), so when you have to think of a destination, it can only be Paris. With my current love. Who has had his driver's license for much longer than I have, allowing me to completely relax in the passenger seat.