My last post indicated that I was heading out the door to attend an exciting(!) press conference/ beauty fair featuring a plethora of products, plus lunch and libations all in one convenient location.
True enough. I was coiffed, made up, dressed, totally coordinated in head-to-toe navy blue except for my Bordeaux patent leather ballerinas and my omnipresent mauve-y/blue bag. I accessorised with my gold creoles (as always), a multi-blue scarf, a couple of gold bangles and I even borrowed MRFLIF’s Cartier Tank watch (you may recall mine was stolen).
My sunglasses — prescription — were momentarily holding back my hair (that way I knew where they were, it saves a lot of time), the car key was in my hand, my camera, notebook and tiny recorder were stashed in my bag. I was ready to roll.
As I was bidding My-Reason-For-Living-In-France and Charlotte farewell, I checked my agenda one last time to confirm the address on rue de Rivoli. It was in that awful moment that I realized I was about to drive into Paris, search for a parking space, and arrive at a press conference that was on Thursday, not Friday.
Let’s see, how shall I describe my reaction. . .it vacillated between that terror we sometimes have about losing our minds, to furious disappointment. I was planning on finding material for fun posts for us. As I explained to MRFLIF, I knew the date but thought the date was Friday, not Thursday. He felt that didn’t make sense, but expressed his opinion in a non-confrontational manner because he knew I wasn’t in the mood for debate.
It made sense to me.
At the same time, I was more than willing to admit how shockingly stupid I was. I actually uttered this out loud: “How could I be so stupid?” Still, I didn’t feel compelled to discuss the situation, if you know what I mean.
Then he said (you would have to know him to appreciate this): “Since you’re all dressed up with no place to go, and you’re not wearing head-to-toe black, let’s go to Paris for lunch.”
(The black thing is an on-going conflict chez nous. I’ve tried to explain, but he doesn’t understand the psychological relationship I have with black.)
After lunch, he bought me a beautiful navy blue V-neck sweater. It is a blue that one would describe as, “midnight navy” which is about as close as you can get to black without it being black.
I felt so much better.