In a sort of stream-of-consciousness, I’m going to recount a few tidbits of life à la Française that interest or enchant me that I hope will have the same affect on you.
On a perfectly positive, pourquoi pas whim — following on the heels, literally, of yesterday’s post — I visited Alexandre, my medical pedicurist; came home on my exquisitely pristine, baby-soft tootsies; exfoliated from head to toe with Avene body scrub applied vigorously with my dead skin removing bath gloves and “tanned” my legs. I used my favorite, no-fail-for-maladroit-idiots disposable one-use only, no mistakes possible towelettes.
(And then I wrote all this down in my new, non-prescription “intelligent optimism” notebook.)
Please don’t expect transition sentences, truly it’s a this and that kind of day. . .
Note funny shoes. They’re from Michel Perry. He christened them: “Welcome, Mr. President” in honor of President Barak Obama. Did someone say nautical: bleu, blanc, rouge mingled with stars and stripes. Sweet, non?
And finally, for those of you who noticed Monday’s rant about age and beauty. Look what I found: A petit ad for Petit Bateau.
Another non-sequitur: Napoleon was superstitious about Friday the 13th. Most French citizens go either way — very or not at all. They are always the biggest lottery ticket buying days.