December 18, 2005

• her accent was thick, her voice husky, and her eyes smudged with kohl. she had that distinctly exotic flair that parisian women are renowned for. those things and that she refused to wear anything but heels.

  
  

  when i met her at the door, she was covered in sweat, wore a tank top and a long sleeve cotton men's shirt with capri rolled up jeans.

  
  

  and heels.

  
  

  somehow she'd walked all the way from the harvard T station to my door with all her luggage and yet still held herself with unmistakable poise and seeming ease.

  
  

  it wasn't until later that i realized her constant rolling of cigarettes was due to the effort of maintaining such charming insouciance in the midst of pursuing her difficult goal. which was the seduction of my roommate who had already turned down her advances while they were classmates in paris. the same one whose current girlfriend was living at our house.

  
  

  i had simply thought, damn. if this is what parisian women can pull off while covered in dirt and sweat, what chance do the rest of us have?

  
  

   

  • 5:58 pm
  • 3 Comments