A Dag in Paris

I am confident there’s no need to spell this out, but I will anyway: I am not glamorous. Just in case there was any confusion. I have never been described as “glamorous” “chi chi” “chic” or “sophisticated.” To illustrate, when Mum and I went wedding dress shopping I tried a dress I really liked and asked Mum what she thought. “Darling, you look beautiful. But that is a very sophisticated dress.” Pause. “And you’re just not very sophisticated.” Ah.

Sure, I love red lipstick and there is a tiny hint of glam there.  But I can mostly be found:

  • Wiping snot (not my own – mostly).
  • Cleaning out my ears.  Satisfying!
  • Yelling “I AM GOING TO LOSE MY PATIENCE” at the children, indicating that I have already lost my patience.
  • De-lousing my childrens’ heads.
  • Daydreaming about yelling at parents who do not de-louse their children’s heads, and send them to school.  Grrrr.
  • Tidying the house.  Or rather, moving items from one room to the next, only to pick up those exact same items again hours later.
  • Cleaning the loo.  It might come as a surprise that it doesn’t clean itself.
  • Going through the Budgens brochure – they’re price matching with Tesco!

You know, the usual stuff. But to cap it off, I was at the supermarket checkout yesterday with the children. My son put his head in my arse and started yelling “Poo on my face!”

Where’s the glamour in that?

But nothing can make you feel less glam than being a dag in Paris. A couple of weeks ago, I had two days in Paris with my brother and sister. We had a ball, for that is one pretty city. I developed a slight crush on everyone I spoke to, in fact I’m going to perpetuate a rather large cliché but Parisians look incredible. I have never seen so many good looking and beautifully dressed people ever. I’ve been there before, but it wasn’t so obvious then. So either I have become more observant, or more daggy.

Flipflops / thongs with “Paris” written all over them – my kind of shoe.

I could have stared at the glamorous people all day. It’s a place where beautiful scarves don’t just languish in people’s wardrobes as they do in mine.  Scarves actually get worn without looking like a lesson in self-strangulation. Bags are chic, hair is glossy, shirts tucked in and everyone is just so darn well put-together.   And none of it rubbed off on me.

Buying a snow globe is bad.  Taking a photo of it is worse.

I’ll now pretend to be a fashion reporter for just one minute. The good news is brogues are clearly the new ballet flat. I barely saw anyone wearing ballet flats, and that was an exciting observation. While I have nothing against them, I’m sure my fellow cankle sufferers will agree that if you have no distinct ankles you cannot wear them. But the thickness of the brogue somehow detracts from the thickness of the ankle. So there you have it, I might not be glam but I do notice people’s shoes. While I’m talking shoes, I’m also very happy to report that the magazines here have started to say the whole nude heel thing has passed. This makes me happy because I always wanted a pair and never got them, so this news somehow makes me fashionable.

I am rambling now so I’ll sign off with some photos of the trip.

Hooray for flattering light!
What better way to look intelligent?
Chez Georges, 1, Rue du Mail, 75002 Paris – love it.
Purdy.
I look like I want to eat the photographer.
Galeries Lafayette.  Where has this been all my life??  Where???

Many thanks to my brother and sister for not waking me when I allegedly snored really loudly on the Eurostar.  They took great delight in telling me all about it once I woke up. Family, eh?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s