The Three Parisiennes.

Enough about the culture- on to more important matters; like shoes! If, like me, you have a serious Imelda Marcos problem, then Paris may be Heaven or Hell, depending on the state of your finances. There's a LOT of shoes for sale. In the famous store Galaries Lafayette there's a whole floor devoted entirely to footwear, everything from Jimmy Choos to Rockport's, all set in delicious little boutiques.

















Nearly every street has at least one shoe shop. Wherever you look there are darling shoes in almost every colour and style. And there was a shop near our apartment which sold can-can shoes and boots. Our helpful landlady left directions on how to find it, along with the cheerful comment that she owns a pair in at least half the colours available. John read it and groaned.

















I visited the shop every day, pressing my nose up against the window, making important choices. Which style? What colour?

How many?







The day came when I finally squeezed myself through the door. I say 'squeezed' because the shop is tiny and it was already crowded with a trio of smart Frenchwomen. They were friends who were out together, choosing what to buy. All available styles had to be examined, every colour considered; opinions offered and suggestions made. Boxes and shoes littered the entire floor.




When my turn came I asked to see some red shoes that had caught my eye. There were two shades of red available, one plain and one pearlized. The pearlized ones were especially pretty and my gasp of delight caused a ripple of sisterly laughter in the shop; every woman in there understood the joy that only a new pair of shoes can bring.




But once I was actually wearing the coveted shoes - I was not so sure of my choice. I gazed at the mirror. I studied my feet. I wished I had someone to ask, but my grasp of French is not that good. The Frenchwomen said nothing and continued their own search for the perfect pair of shoes.




Then I asked to see the same style in grey. I put them on. Three immaculately coiffured heads turned. They nodded enthusiastically. Words I could recognize filled the air: "Bon!" "Chic." "Tres elegante!". Well, when three classy Parissiennes look at your shod feet and indicate approval, you don't argue. You buy the shoes.



And with splendid disregard for the English language: This is they!