Seeing Pink

I love pink.  My motto is "You can't have a bad day while wearing pink."  I own multiple pink sweaters and t-shirts in many shades of the color.  I bought the above pictured pile of pink while in Paris in March.  Arles Lucy and I were strolling the Champs-Élysées, letting the kiddies shop, when we happened by H&M.

I know there is one in Raleigh, but I don't get over to the Capital City very often and I've never been there.  But we just couldn't help but go in to take a look at the happening colors for spring and summer.  Orange.  And pink.
Aren't these beautiful enough to eat?

While on the TGV heading to Avignon, I did eat this pink Pierre Hermé macaron Arles Lucy bought for me at Galeries Lafayette.  Délicieux!

My eye is just drawn to pink.  I can't help it.
At the Marché d'Aligre--

Tea anyone?  Guess which cup I chose.

The pink pillows give just the right splash to the room, don't you think?   (Two lucky women in my BFF group will stay in this room during our summer trip.)

My messy bed in the Hôtel Princesse Caroline in Paris--

The pink evening sky from "my" window in Mme MLQ's house in Provence.  Maybe a little orange mixed in, too, n'est-ce pas?  Très chic.

Quelle heure est-il?  I don't know.  Let me check.

Time for a glass of pink?

Enough reminiscing about the last trip to France.  I do have a story to tell.  Lest I forget it in all this pink haze.
While in Paris with the kiddies in March, we decided to take them to the movies-- au ciné.

The Artist had just won Best Picture and that dashing Jean Dujardin took home the Best Actor Oscar.  None of the little darlings had seen the movie.  So, we strolled down the Champs-Élysées, got in line, and I bought a round of tickets for everyone.  Arles Lucy and I had already seen it, but we were eager to see it again.  The Best Guide in Paris, Thierry, had not seen it yet.  We got settled into our seats, the lights went down, the movie trailers came on, and one of the girlies came down with a nose bleed.  It happens all the time, she said, and off she went to les toilettes with one of the other girlies to fix it.  When they hadn't returned after about 10 minutes, I leaned over to Arles Lucy and told her I was going to go check on them.  I headed out the door, only to have it slam behind me before I realized I didn't go out the same door I came in.  Mince!  I thought to myself (or worse).  I was locked out of the theater.  Oui.  Not completely, but enough so that I couldn't get back into the room where the movie was actually playing by this time.  I banged and banged on the door, slowly realizing that no one knew or cared that I could not get back in.  I didn't have my ticket, coat or cell phone.  Not that any of those except the ticket would have done me any good.  I finally decided to just go on down the little hallway and exit the building, walk around the block and re-enter the theater, hoping the ticket seller would remember the woman who bought 23 tickets.  He did.  So, up the stairs I went, stopping at the bathroom to make sure the girls weren't there (they weren't) and that there wasn't blood everywhere (there wasn't) before going back in to watch the movie.  The group was sitting towards the front of the theater, but I didn't want to crawl all over everyone to get back to my original seat, so I just found a seat on the aisle, a couple of rows down from Arles Lucy.  I wanted to make sure she knew I had (finally) returned.
Now, I need to back up a minute and tell you that I was wearing a cute dark gray dress, black tights, black Paris suede boots, and the H&M scarf in the first picture.  Actually, it is much larger than a normal scarf, but I am not sure what else to call it.  For me, jeans lover that I am, that was pretty stylin' for a night out in the City of Light.  I am not a young chick.  I have passed the half-century mark.  I do not think that adventure is lurking in a dark cinéma in Paris.  I am (usually) okay with that.
Anyway, back to my story.  I hadn't been in that aisle seat five minutes before some random man sat down right next to me.  The row was empty.  What's up with that?  I thought to myself.  Personal space?  Seriously.  Oh well.  I was engrossed in the movie.  And Jean Dujardin.  And that cute little dog.  All of a sudden, I realized that there was a hand in my lap and it wasn't mine.  But for a few seconds/minutes, I was afraid to touch it and thought to myself that there was no way that this was really happening to me.  I hadn't felt its arrival.  How long had it been there?  Did Random French Man REALLY put his hand on my leg??  Really?  As it was, I was practically sitting on the arm of my seat.  The side next to the aisle, that is.  After a few minutes, that felt like a few hours, I took the hand and flung it back at its owner.  I will bet that he thought for a split second that I was going to actually hold it.  I stayed in my seat, wrapping my pinkness tightly around me, edging even closer to the arm of the seat, and enjoyed the rest of the movie.  Random French Man didn't move either.  But he didn't mess with me again.  I did not feel threatened in any way.  I knew that Best Guide in Paris would beat the merde out of him, if need be.  After the film ended, I headed back to Arles Lucy and RFM left, I guess.
I had to laugh, though, telling the story to Arles Lucy later.  I knew what the Ex-Ex would say when I relayed the tale to him.  You can't blame a guy for trying, can you?  And that's exactly what he said.
I couldn't make this stuff up, you know.
Let's drink to that.  Make mine a kir royale with a view of the Sacré Coeur, s'il vous plaît!
Santé! 

Kir Royale


Crème de cassis (black currant liqueur)
Champagne

Pour the crème de cassis in a champagne glass.  Start with a tablespoon and add more if you want a stronger flavor.
Add well-chilled champagne (or any dry bubbly wine).
Sip and enjoy!

Bon appétit, pink and RFM.  Hope you have more luck the next time!