I have decided the include the occasional observations about life in Paris from the viewpoint of a country rustic. In my family, for reasons that are lost in the mists of time, we referred to those sorts as “Rube”.
Here is the first such observation. It may be the last.
I stole it it and expanded it a bit from an email I recently sent to a friend.
“Given the number of young women crashing around the streets of Paris on stiletto heels, I would expect to see numbers of them plummeting to the ground with perhaps ankle breaking results. But it doesn’t happen.
Another thing: it is un-nerving how many of the young women here are six feet tall or more. I thought they must be Germans, but they all are shouting French to one another as they careen about the streets, managing to stay upright on what would appear to be barely weight-supporting appendages of their shoes; so they must be French. Or maybe they are German secret agents.
One corollary to the large number of tall women is that their plethoric presence has apparently caused a market anomaly: a shortage of skirts of a length necessary to properly cover them. So the poor things prance about in barely ass-covering garments intended for their shorter sisters. One would expect the government to intervene.”