Verona

I am planning a holiday. Which is very not me. I don't plan anything at all. And I'd be a very bad planner anyhow. And, wait for it, at 35 I am planning a holiday... with my dad. It'll be just me and him. Perfect. I know he will grumble about my smoking. But I know that otherwise, it will be fine, no, not just fine, it will be fine. It will be my dad's dream fulfilled. And mine too. I cannot complain, my old man who doesn't look a year older than 40 footing the total bill. Poor dad, he really is a sweetheart. The love of a dad for his daughter is really something. I don't know why he loves me so much. He just does. And I'm not sure I deserve it except for having branched out in the field he loves... music. Otherwise, I've given him a hard time. I haven't been a model daughter although I love him very very much. But a dad forgives and forgets. At least my dad does. I guess he still thinks of me as his little princess. And that makes me cry. Because my dad is not a tough one. He's not like one of those patriarchal dads who govern the house with an iron hand. He's always been like a puppy. I am so so proud of him. I have never ever heard a word against him, and of course, one might argue, a daughter would never hear hard words against her father. But really, people love him. And that in turn makes me jealous because he's mine, all mine. It's a good thing he never had any more daughters. I am way too territorial. And I know what's pushing him to push me into accompanying him on a trip of a lifetime. I know it's because he's got a health scare and is trying to do everything he has ever dreamed of. And we're off to fair Verona where we lay our scene. In fair Verona where we will sit next to each other to feel the drama of opera. And we will need no spoken words. And we will book just one room for two which will raise plenty of eyebrows. But we don't care. It'll be just like little kids enthralled by the drama, the music which only opera can provide. Thanks dad, you're one in a million and I love you so.