Paradise

I don’t consider myself a “girly-girl” in the sense that I am not obsessed with shopping, shoes, sales, purses, dresses, pink, jewelry, etc. Do I like looking nice? Yes. Do I want to waste precious time and energy in hellish mall crowds full of people “just looking”? No. Today however, I indulged my girly side and went to the Galeries Lafayette in Paris. I REALLY wanted to take photos but believe me when I tell you the crowd in that place would not have been appreciative. The Galeries Lafayette is a huge department store full of the nicest and most luxurious (thus expensive) brands—clothes, shoes, makeup, accessories, home décor, even food….It’s paradise.

So I went. Stepping in to the store I literally felt like I had been transported into another world. The world of rich people to be precise. After getting myself lost in a crowd of older women smelling of Chanel N°5 and wearing at least $1,000 worth of clothing (each) I finally found the escalator. I went up to the first floor (the second floor in the U.S….but for some reason the French make it hard and call the first floor the rez-de-chaussée) and got off. Big mistake. Floor 1 is the super-super designer stuff(Louis Vuitton, Dior, etc.)…or at least the super-super pricey stuff. It was like I had walked into the men’s bathroom; everyone was staring at me in my Gap turtleneck and Express jeans. I bolted back to the safety of the escalator. At least there you’re welcome no matter what color your credit card is.

Floor 2, heureusement, was more reasonably—if only by a little bit—priced. Everything was so….chic. French chic. And just…way out of my cool level in terms of style. I looked around, practically drooling, and finally settled on a leather jacket. I felt so powerful handing him my card to pay. I felt like jumping over the counter, grabbing the salesman by his suit that cost at least a month’s salary, and screaming, “How do you like them apples?!” I refrained, and actually got to walk out of Galeries Lafayette with a bag!! I was more than just a window shopper…for the first and last time ever at that store.

Anyways, a few days ago, Alain asked me if I had a blog. Now as much as I love having readers, I don’t really want the family tuning in to my weekly posts. It’s my only outlet! So, hesitating, I said no. I hated lying—really, I did—but then if I said yes he would want to read it, then I’d have to edit certain posts…you get the drift. So he looked at me and was like, “hm, yea, I guess a blog probably isn’t your thing, huh?” Now what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Because I’m an au pair I can’t write? I was seething but what could I do? It’s not like I could say, “Oh, actually, I do have a blog. And people read it!!! (I hope)”. I just sighed and went on unloading the dishwasher.

While I’m venting I also have to tell you this story. A few days ago, at dinner, we were discussing the upcoming scout sleepover that will be taking place at the house this weekend. Alain and Caroline were telling Zoe that she wouldn’t hear the Scouts outside when she was trying to go to sleep because her room was upstairs. Everyone sleeps upstairs in fact….except me. So sweet Zoe mentioned that I might hear the Scouts and Alain said, “oh that won’t be a problem, she sleeps through everything”. Now, for your information, and my college roommates can attest to this, I am a VERY light sleeper. Pin drops, I’m awake…that sort of thing. So I asked why he said that, and he told me that I never get out of bed when the kids are screaming/crying/yelling at ungodly hours. Oh and when I say kids, I count him as well. What the heck does he want me to do??? Get out of bed and tell him and his kids sorry, it’s 8 a.m., could you kindly shut the hell up…in their own house? I don’t think so. So I grew a pair and told him how I felt. Dani: 1, French hatefulness: 2348239042. I’m catching up.

Other updates in life before I write a novel of a post….

I have pictures that I promise I'll add soon. If anyone even cares. It's something to look at besides words at least.

The kids have been really..well relatively..good this week. Minimal fighting, minimal tantrum-throwing, minimal cursing. I don't know what drugs they're on, but I haven't wanted to shoot myself all week. And I only washed kiddie pee sheets once. That's a real improvement.

And finally, I took the late night bus again last week ; I’m like the kid who never learns that she will get burnt if she touches the fire. The bus is TERRIBLE. But I subject myself time and time again. So it’s supposed to come at 3:30am and arrive at 5 am. On Saturday, unfortunately, it was an hour late. So I’m at the bus stop with the other bus takers…freezing…tired…and waiting. All of a sudden this rather large, older African lady approaches me. I look away, hoping she won’t speak to me. Too late. She is asking for my phone number. Now hold on a minute…is this woman hitting on me? As if it’s not enough that I have to ward off the weird old guy in the corner, now a woman is coming on to me. Luckily I lied my way out of it. Unfortunately, I had an hour to spend with her on a small bench. When she took her shoes off and I smelled her feet I actually shed tears.

That’s it for French adventures this week. Off to watch 24 with Caroline. Bisoux.