"Dahling, nevah weah Leopahd before noon!" was a punch line many moons ago from a great "ladies in leopard" anecdote by my Massachusetts friend Cee-Cee. Leopard just wasn't very New England. My gal pals and I used to snicker about such things.
Before I left my prim coastal community last winter I had to de-accession clothing that I presumed would be inappropriate for my new life and closet space in Paris. So, sadly I sent my unworn Ferragamo leopard flats up for adoption at the local consignment store. I really grieved, if it's possible to grieve for a pair of shoes. (Some of you will understand this. Others will think I'm nuts. Both are correct.)
They had been such a find -- in my hard-to-find size in Filene's Basement, gorgeous leopard-print suede ballerina flats, for an unbelievable bargain of $49. Honest-to-god brand-new Ferragamos. I had bought them on a whim two years before, and then rarely had the chance or gumption to wear them in Boston, what with the noon rule and all. Besides -- a divorced woman, in leopard, in Boston? Dahling, puhleez.
So imagine my utter extreme terrible heartbroken dismay to discover that this year in Paris, leopard is not merely acceptable, it is all the rage, 24/7. De rigueur. Fashion note: just one article of leopard at a time, s'il vous plait.
If they even made that style this year, a pair of those shoes would fetch about 275 euros at the Ferragamo boutique on rue du Faubourg St. Honore.
Do you think I could get that consignment shop to return those flats to their birth mother?
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