Last night was the inauguration celebration of Adrian's latest property in Le Palace des Vosges (a "High Society" kinda address to have...). "What shall I wear?" I asked myself, looking through my closet of leftover black cocktail dresses, from last year's parties and dinners on the Champs Elysees with Pierre. Each dress seemed a little too formal for the occasion.
"A black skirt will be fine." I answered myself, but what else I wondered? 4 inch heels., was the answer. A black skirt and 4 inch heels is all that seemed to really matter I realized as I began my journey to the celebration.
Walking to the metro, now that summer vacations have ended in Paris, the streets are filled with traffic. I stopped at the busy crosswalk intersection watching all the traffic, and to my surprise, when I stopped, the traffic stopped too. A small white car, followed by others, stopped in the center of the intersection where I stood at the curb. On-coming cars also stopped. I stood there at the corner, looking for the red light that suddenly stopped the traffic in an awkward way, blocking the side streets too. There wasn't a stop light. I was confused as no one honked their horns either. After surveying the silent traffic, I looked again at the car in front of me and noticed a man waving me to cross the street. I looked again at the traffic and realized that he had stopped to allow me to cross which in turn blocked the entire intersection. Everyone waited patiently as I made my way across the street. As I reached the middle of the street, noticing heads in cars turned my direction, I thought, "Wow, this must be where that saying about 'looks that stop traffic' comes from." I tried not to smile out loud.
4-inch heels and a black skirt, On the side walk, men stare, at my feet, then my legs, then the skirt. I look away and keep walking. Men with women stare, women look. I pretend not to notice. A few times I casually touch my skirt to make sure it was still there, as more heads turned. It was still there.
Leaving the metro, as I walked up the stairs and started down the side walk towards Palace Des Vosges, the biggest compliment was there on the corner. Holding his mother's hand was a little boy around 8 or 9 years old. As I walked closer he turned around, (maybe at the sound of my 4 inch heels clacking on the stone sidewalk), his mouth dropped open as if he just saw a tall building turn into a transformer figure. Immediately, with his little mouth still hung open, he looked at my feet, then my legs, then the black skirt just as I walked past him and his mother. I smiled out loud...as I rushed to help set up for the evening party....(to be continued)