written in April 2006
She's getting it figured out. Le Look Parisien. After finishing le petit dejeuner, she dons le look.
Well-pressed jeans. Check.
Suede boots. Check.
Long scarf coiled around the neck. Check.
Face lightly made up, lips glossed. Check.
Hair coiffed. Check.
Brown shearling jacket. Check.
One last check in the mirror before heading out the apartment door to a meeting. Looks pulled-together.
Into elegant wrought iron elevator cage, down to floor "0".
Push "porte" button to enter courtyard.
Push exterior "porte" button, out heavy ancient door onto place de la Madeleine.
Nod "Bonjour, monsieur" to shopkeeper next door who stands guard smoking all day.
Deep breath, get ready for the Parisienne-style walk, which will take her past Dior, Gucci, Chanel and all the neighborhood stores:
Head tossed high as though you're looking over the person in front of you. Check.
Posture: not exactly "chest out", more akin to "boobs first". Check.
The stride - a mild version of the fashion catwalk, heel-toe, heel-toe. Check.
Longchamp bag hung just so at the elbow. Check.
Feeling good, got le look. Within minutes, a man calls out from behind her, "Madame?"
Hmmm. Does she deign to respond? She turns oh-so-slowly and confidently around.
He says, "Vous avez un morceau de papier colle la!"
Mais oui, Polly's customized version of le look parisien includes a yellow post-it note flapping from her derriere.