vendredi

I made a terrible spur of the moment decision and bought leopard print, stiletto booties. I couldn't help myself. I saw them one day and could not stop thinking about them. So in order to prep myself for wearing them, I thought it was tantamount to practice prancing around paris in my already broken in pair of booties that I brought with me. Heels aren't comfortable or easy for me to wear, but I was determined to make it work so that I could wear these fabulous new shoes out.

Erin and I went out and decided to walk around. So far so good from our apartment to the metro station. Stairs down into the metro? Not so easy. Through the metro? Not easy either. But I'm out of practice. So we get out at Hotel de Ville to go to BHV and look for nailpolish because I discovered on my pointless excursion for halloween decorations that they had very nice nailpolishes for very cheap prices. It's a hot day, I'm killing myself with tromping around in these high heels, and sweating profusely. (Walking in stilettos is a major workout for your calves) BHV is the star of the solar system in Paris. The hottest place temperature wise (AC doesn't exist in Europe as far as I'm concerned) and everyone flocks to it.

Unfortunately my brakes are also out on my stilettos, and being so clustered, I can't maneuver. This is starting to seem like a very bad idea. I can't regulate my temperature, and I'm sweating, and there's too many people in a small area.  We make our way out and find a stoop to take a breather on.  We stumble upon the familiar, being right by our school, and also  the least paved area of Paris it seems.  I wobble, and weeble and soon enough I mistake a crack and have a near fall. A half block later, right in front of a cafe, I have another. How embarrassing to falter in front of all these Parisians! So I am just about to die from embarrassment and Erin has to go to class so I embark on the metro to hurry home. Going down these stairs to this metro however, and using the railing and being careful, I fall about three steps, as gracefully as one can imagine, I'll add, and all my heel confidence and Parisian confidence is gone. I board the metro to the next station and somehow take another almost spill. Merde! How is this happening? I don't usually fall, I can't ever say I'm a magnificent strutter in heels, but this is a rarity. Unless I have been drinking… Haha. At the next platform I sit down and admit defeat and take the heels off and put on these new boots I found for an absolute steal. Ego is cracked and bruised, and I'm sweating from total embarrassment. I return home, defeated, and believe that I will never again try to wear heels in Paris again. Erin assures me that it'd be difficult for anyone, but I just felt like I failed, and so so sad that I wouldn't be able to wear my new leopard print heels here.

My new mission is to spot any Parisian women wearing heels and wait for them to trip to ensure myself that I was not an utter fool.