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Licking the window

My favourite French phrase is faire du lèche-vitrine = to lick the window = window shopping.

I love it because it describes exactly what it is to be standing there salivating like Pavlov's dog over some gadget, car, dress, flowers, or what-not. Honestly, I am not a big shopper and far from materialistic, but what I do buy, it is usually because of love at first sight; because of lèche at first sight. I know, that sounds wrong. Nobody needs to be lèche-ing at first sight.

In any case, this past week during my walks with Charlie, I've been doing plenty of lèche-vitrin-ing at a little store on Boulevard Lord Duveen, a few steps away from our favourite boulangerie.

The shoes which captured my heart would add three inches to my vertically-challenged self and give me a new perspective on life, so to speak. A few days ago, I went around 2pm to try them on. Like any self respecting store in France, their lunch hour was 12-3pm.

I returned yesterday afternoon.

'My precious', I murmured when I saw them again. One shoe to rule them all.

Inside was a weary and doleful the-wife-dragged-me-in-here elderly man sitting down on a little step while his teeny tiny lady was being helped by another teeny tiny lady. Considering how teeny tiny the store was, this seemed somehow fitting.

In the end, after all that lèche-ing, she did not have the shoes in my size! I am a size 7.5 which in France is Bigfoot, extra-wide. Ugh!

Luckily, there was another pair chilling in the back. Tall, dark and mysterious. I swear they sang to me:

'Hello? Is it me you're looking for?' ...

'I sometimes see you pass outside my door.'

Oh wow. Hello! But there really is no place I could wear you on a regular basis, I whispered nervously, caressing them just a little.

This love affair was going to be complicated.

Oh but wow.

They were not practical in any sense and absolutely could not be justified with many a-train-ticket and tax time around the corner.

So, naturally, I got them.

'Let me start by saying, I love you.'

They make me sh-appy. I promise you, this is a real thing. Being made happy by shoes. Not to be confused with b-appy (happy by bag), p-appy (happy by pastry), ch-appy (happy by chocolate), fl-apppy (happy by good film), r-appy (happy by running)...

I could go on, but I may have some new windows to lick in...drum roll...Cannes!

The Cannes Film Festival is underway and my love and I plan to drive there, try to go to the red carpet or grab a drink at one of the shi-shi poo-poo hotels, and pretend to be important somebodies instead of 'scrappy little nobodies.' If all works out, we will do some star gazing.

The girls and I are going for an adventure!

And I know exactly the shoes we are going to wear.