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Of dresses and demurity


I've been looking for the perfect dress for my sister's wedding for ages, something not too formal (because it's not one of those sorts of weddings), but obviously not too casual.

I found myself in a shop yesterday, trying on a bunch of different dresses, but not finding anything just right. I slipped the last one on and studied myself in the mirror. I liked it a lot, but with my bra peeking unbecomingly over the edge of the lacy top, I whipped it off and decided to try it on braless. Despite being rather well-endowed, I figured that the way it was shaped and the ribbon underneath the bust would keep things in place.

I peered through the curtain and, with no one around, I slipped out to check myself in the long mirror. A little risqué for me, I thought, especially since the girls are usually kept firmly in place by a system of ropes and pulleys, but I thought that given the style and cut, I might be able to get away with it, especially if I wore a stole over the top.

I was about to slip back into the fitting room when, out of nowhere, a sales lady appeared. Within the blink of an eye she had cupped my bosom in her hands and exclaimed, "they're marvellous! What you've got, most women would pay to have! Let's put them out there for everyone to see!"

Too gobsmacked to respond, I stood there dumbly as she tightened the shoulder straps (if such a moment was immortalised in comic book form, words such as "hoik" and "yank" might come flying off the page). She then patted her work (ie. my breasts, which were now almost up around shoulder level) with a pleased look on her face, and exclaimed "they're marvellous!"

Despite being stunned over the forwardness of The Sales Lady, My New Best Friend Forever, it goes without saying that I bought the dress.

But as well as having to find myself a stole (just to demure it up a little, so I don't look too scandalous at my sisters wedding), I may have to hire some sort of catcher to follow me around, just in case something falls out.



Today we went to Ikea, and left without buying anything.

Who knew it was possible?

(Of course, Sylvain will have to go back to get the thing that they didn't have in stock today, but still, it was done!)

Passer du coq à l'âne


At noon on Saturday, I was in a shoe shop trying on a pair of shoes. I got a phone call from Aimee, telling me the bad news about her mum.

I literally slammed my credit card down on the counter and said, "I'm taking these shoes, let me pay, now."

The sales lady put my card in the machine, and eyeed me carefully, "do the shoes fit, madame?"

I punched in my numbers and grabbed my bag and the receipt, "I don't know, I don't care," and I ran out of the door. I left my old pair of shoes behind - one of them had a hole, so I'm not too worried about it. The new shoes are ok, not perfect, but they're ok.

It's been a strange few days since that moment. Life seems to have been in limbo, in a way.

But I'm jumping on the wheel again, and I am going to finish what I started - shopping.

I think I'm going to head to Bon Marché in my lunch break today, and I'm going to have to use EVERY SINGLE OUNCE OF MY WILLPOWER NOT TO GO UPSTAIRS TO THE YARN DEPARTMENT.

The problem is that I don't actually have any room for more yarn, and I really should to do something about turning all those skeins in my stash into real life knitted goods, but... all that yarn, sitting in those little cubby holes at Bon Marché... it's just so darn pretty that I can't help myself.

It's all about willpower.

So why am I going? To get some canned pumpkin for her, and some philly cream cheese for her. The things we do... Putting my credit card in mortal danger with all that yarn so close by.



I have to wear this stupid aircast around my ankle for the next couple of weeks. In order to accommodate the aircast, I have to wear a pair of six-year old Vans, the left shoe of which is now, sadly, impossibly stretched. I'll never be able to wear them again.

I was on the train this morning, gazing wistfully at girl wearing a cute pair of green flats, and her friend, wearing a fun pair of purple heels. Thankfully I caught myself before she noticed that I was staring and thought I was trying to crack on to her or something.

As soon as I'm out of this darn aircast, I'm going shoe shopping for a new pair of runners and some autumn flats. I think I deserve it.

From Summer to Autumn


Long-time readers of this blog (and those who know me well) will be well aware of the fact that I like bags. A lot. My theory is that when the spirit moves me to get a new bag, who am I to argue?

I had gone shopping a few weeks ago, and came across a few different bags that I liked. I am still totally enamoured by the superfantastic goodness that is the classic black Sequoia bag, but I balked a little at the 200€ price tag. Maybe if I get a surprise pay rise or bonus or when pigs fly. I found a very nice one that I liked in an Esprit store, but since I am far from being a spontaneous shopper - I have a tendency to let potential purchases float around in my head for a while - I left it and decided to think about it.

Yesterday I had an IM conversation with a girlfriend that went a little like this :
Her : "what are you doing after work?"
Me : "um, was thinking about going to Rue de Rennes? maybe?"
Her : "OOoooooh, to get That Bag?"
Me : "hehe, maybe.'
Her : "let's meet at 6!"

So last night I found myself in the Esprit store on the Rue de Rennes. A quick look around the store revealed that there were none of the bags on display (I've lost items before by taking too long to think about it, I really should make up my mind faster), but thankfully a panicky interrogation of the shop assistant revealed that there was one left in the back of the store.

And voilà. I have found my bag-related Autumn Happiness. We quickly made our way up to the Starbucks at Montparnasse (I love shopping with girlfriends) and gossiped over Café Caramel Frappucinos, whilst I transferred my belongings from my pink handbag into my new brown sac à main.

And so begins Autumn.

the passing of a handbag

Despite the fact that the days are getting shorter, night falls far quicker than it used to - I think it's off to a good start.

Thanks for the pics, Aimee ;)



I am a bundle of nerves today - we've been trying to sell Pikachu* for the last couple of months, but haven't had any serious bites. But when it rains, it pours, and over the last two days, we've had two very interested parties see the car. We've given first dibs to the people who contacted us first, and we should get the yay or nay today. If not, we'll sell Pikachu to the second lot. So, if all goes well, we'll be saying goodbye to Pikachu in the next few weeks and the search can really begin for something more... interesting.

Sylvain has thrown caution to the wind and is counting his chickens already - he's got a couple of preferences, but given my horror of all things car-related (and his evident expertise in the field), I prefer to just leave all decisions in his hands.

All decisions, that is, except for the colour.

Believe it or not, he was considering a pee-coloured car.

My word on this is final : I don't care if it makes coffee for me in the morning and tucks me in at night, I will not have a pee-coloured car.

* The name Pikachu for the Picasso comes from Sylvain's colleagues. They all get to drive fancy, fast cars all day, then Sylvain comes home in the practical Picasso, which, to them, seems like a wee little cartoon character in comparison to what they all normally drive at work.

Covering up


Parisian skies have been gray and threatening rain for a few days now, and overnight, they followed through on their threats and now the roads and sidewalks are wet, and the trees are dripping.

So this morning, I decided to pull out my umbrella and put on the first pair of covered shoes that I've worn since... oh... April?

I always feel sad when I start wearing covered shoes again. Sure, winter is not exactly upon us yet, and there'll be more opportunities to wear my sandals, but there is something that makes me feel a little melancholy when I put my covered shoes on for the first time in a while.

Of course, that melancholy doesn't last long - all it means is that I have an excuse to seriously check out the new seasons shoes ;)

Carry on


Every year I go through a phase of absolutely having to buy a New Bag. I'm not talking about just an ordinary bag - because I have plenty of other bags that I use and interchange regularly - I'm talking about a Special Bag. Because the spirit moves me to do so, and the desire to get a New Bag overtakes me, and I end up obsessing about it for weeks. Last year it took me a good month or so to find the right one.

With sunny days and summer sandals, my thoughts again turn to the possibility of a new bag.

I'm always drawn to neat little compact sorts of bags. Sleek designs. I always convince myself that I will be able to fit everything I need in there.

But I have a confession to make.

I'm a bag-abuser.


A carrier of crap, that is what I am.


The staple items that must be in my bag are as follows : purse, camera, phone, keys, Moleskin notebook, map of Paris, passport, restaurant tickets, chequebook, Carte Orange, lip balm, pen, mp3 player. I neeeeeeeeed all this stuff with me all the time.

It Can Be No Other Way.

On Sunday, I was flitting around town with a gorgeous summer-fun bright pink Indian silk bag. The handle broke because it was too heavy and I had too much crap in it (thankfully I had a MASSIVE Sephora shopping bag with me, with industrial strength handles, and I was able to dump said crap inside).

I'm going to end up ruining and/or permanently deforming Last Years Bag (pictured above) if I'm not careful.

I think that, given the evidence, I just need to admit defeat. This Years Bag needs to be a little lot bigger than usual. I can't cut down on the amount of stuff I carry with me, so perhaps I need to consider lugging a suitcase around with me. Hmm. I think it's time to go shopping...

Hair today, gone tomorrow


The only bad thing about getting an unreal haircut that you just adore is that you can never really recreate the blowdried, styled goodness on your own.

I still love the colour, I just have to figure out how to tame these unruly tresses into a respectable do.

Hmm. I just used the word "unreal". Without thinking. It's like my vocabulary is regressing.

Shopping crisis

| 1 Comment

I'd just like to say that asking me to convince you that you don't need to buy a new pair of shoes is really not going to produce the desired results. Really.


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