A weird thing happened the other day during my apartment sale. A dozen or so strangers and friends were milling around; the atmosphere was convivial. They asked how the move was going, my reactions to leaving Paris and returning to the states; and in turn I asked what brought them to Paris, how long they planned to stay. It all sparked some lively conversations.
Lots of comings and goings. In the midst of it all, one unknown fellow turned and asked me obliquely, "Soooo, is Polly Platt moving back to the US too?" Puzzled by his Q, I didn't quite know how to give the A.
"Er... well, no, I don't think so," I shrugged. "She still has a pied-à-terre in Paris, and lives in the South of France the rest of the time."
Unh-hmmmm, he nodded, lips pursed, eyebrows slightly raised.
After the crowds left, I kept mulling his odd question and reaction. Did he think Polly Platt and I were related or something? Or (a lightbulb pops!) did he think that I was in reality THE French-or-Foe Polly Platt masquerading under the nom de plume of Polly-Vous Français?
Wow. A heady thought. I would adore being as wonderful as Polly Platt. There are many American women writing in Paris whose lives I envy deeply. I have often wanted to live in their skins -- to be them instead of me: Patricia Wells, Mary Blume, and Polly Platt, to name but three. They have well-respected careers as serious journalists. I'm just a piker blogger.
Are Polly Platt and I the only two Pollys in Paris? I doubt it.
Are we friends and colleagues? Yes, most definitely.
I know of at least one other Parisian Polly: the famous bar, Qui êtes-vous, Polly Maggoo?
Now I wonder if that's partially a rhetorical question.
Lots of comings and goings. In the midst of it all, one unknown fellow turned and asked me obliquely, "Soooo, is Polly Platt moving back to the US too?" Puzzled by his Q, I didn't quite know how to give the A.
"Er... well, no, I don't think so," I shrugged. "She still has a pied-à-terre in Paris, and lives in the South of France the rest of the time."
Unh-hmmmm, he nodded, lips pursed, eyebrows slightly raised.
After the crowds left, I kept mulling his odd question and reaction. Did he think Polly Platt and I were related or something? Or (a lightbulb pops!) did he think that I was in reality THE French-or-Foe Polly Platt masquerading under the nom de plume of Polly-Vous Français?
Wow. A heady thought. I would adore being as wonderful as Polly Platt. There are many American women writing in Paris whose lives I envy deeply. I have often wanted to live in their skins -- to be them instead of me: Patricia Wells, Mary Blume, and Polly Platt, to name but three. They have well-respected careers as serious journalists. I'm just a piker blogger.
Are Polly Platt and I the only two Pollys in Paris? I doubt it.
Are we friends and colleagues? Yes, most definitely.
I know of at least one other Parisian Polly: the famous bar, Qui êtes-vous, Polly Maggoo?
Now I wonder if that's partially a rhetorical question.
4 comments:
I was not aware that you knew Polly Platt, or that you used to work at the French library in Boston. That's so cool!
I must have started reading your blog after you wrote about your relationship with Polly Platt. I'll admit to wondering if you were "that" Polly when I first found your blog!
Anyway, I will have to check out Love à la Française. Maybe I can get some freakin' answers. ;-)
Someday I'll have to post a picture of Polly & Polly together... maybe standing on rue Parrot.
When I return for a visit (sniff!).
I just wanted to say that I've also become a 'follower' of your blog after reading your post on Craigslist. I'm very taken with your style, though don't think it's exactly à la Polly Platt, though I do appreciate her work as well.
When I move from Paris I'm going to be sure to post my blog on my post as well!
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