Fashion Weak

It’s Paris fashion week, I can tell because a member of the Von Trapp family just sauntered by wearing designer lederhosen. Also on display are razor thin, pout stricken models in tattered denim. Unfortunately, the homeless drug addict look is big this year. Excited to participate, I pull out my marino wool Costco socks, hmm, let’s see, which identical pair shall I wear today?

I ventured over to Le Bon Marche’ in Paris, -the one I used to steal from in Seattle is long gone. Sorry I couldn’t have been more helpful- so, bested by nostalgia, I broke down and bought a pair of Khaki pants to keep my multitude of 501’s company in the closet. I am first and foremost a Levis freak, but for fashions sake, I made an exception. A HUNDRED AND SEVENTY EIGHT DOLLARS, what the hell? I used to wear Khakis in the joint and they were free, how times have changed. I’m informed, although I don’t yet speak French, so I can’t be certain, “You’ll be needing some designer socks to go along with those fancy pants.” A choice of forty and seventy euro socks (even more than a dollar), in an array of colours are bandied about.  I never get to the seventeen dollar pair before white hot light fills my head, I flip out and make a scene. A big American scene.

I can’t compete. I’m considering a utilitarian onesie, with vinyl feet and matching mittens, one pair of fuzzy ears away from being a team mascot, or lunatic. Or, I could wrap rags around my feet, that’s cost effective. Losing my mind in Le Bon Marche’ brought me right back to when I’d just got out of prison and while walking down the street, yelled to no one, and everyone, “They’re not getting my money.” Nice.

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