Posts By: Aurélie

The pullover dress

robepullI guess no one missed the fact that this winter’s killing hype accessory is the pullover dress. In the first place, I was glad. Why? Because, sincerely, for the past six months it was bermuda shorts and, inevitably, you could count me out. Not really because bermuda shorts reminds me more of boy scouts uniforms than of a sexy outfit but because you can imagine that it’s out of question for me – and even under the knife – to consider exposing my calve, those ones that refuse to fit in any boots.

So, I was saying, pullover dress. Initially, I told myself, ‘pullover dress, easy’. No buttons, no stiff seams, child’s play when you’re curvy. I’ll just have to pick an extra size not to look too stitched in it and this winter, for once, I’ll be in. Thus I started my Grail quest with loads of optimism.

15h00. I take the metro to: Les Halles [1]. I’m going to buy a pullover dress. I feel sexy just thinking about it. I can already picture myself with my riding boots. Emma Peel, just wait for it. The fashion lesson I’ll give you, you won’t get over it.

15h10: At Zara, there are hundreds of very elegant girls and almost as many pullover dresses. If I have to, I’ll kill but I’ll have one too. I want to enter this hyper select club.

15h45. That’s my luck. Queuing for half an hour to try on a common jumper. Thanks to the ill-bred who put it back with the dresses, all this only by laziness of going to the jumper shelf. There’s no more respect.

15h48: My bad, it is a dress. On the hanger it’s a dress. On me it’s a jumper.

15h57: Zara visibly doesn’t fit me. Anyway, all these formatted girls who rush towards those dresses – which aren’t actual dresses – are pathetic and lack personality. Let me go to a more specialized shop.

16h20: I enter C&A.

16h23: This one has horizontal stripes, it’s made for me. It looks like a Rykiel. It’s obviously the 2007 must have. And it’s high time we kill the shameful reputation we’ve always laid on stripes’ back.

16h24: May the one who had the idea of putting stripes on a pullover dress die in atrocious throes.

16h26: Even vertical stripes are a don’t. Listen Sonia, let me tell you, you screw that one up. That’s it, it must be difficult to admit for a great lady like you, but drop the stripes. Focus on ducks.

16h30: I take off in a sweat from Camaïeu. The last style I tried enabled me to notice I have back muffin tops. I think I also counted four breasts which is, obviously, not totally normal.

16h45: At Comptoirs des Cotonniers, they have openwork pullover dresses.

16h50: I try to convince the shop assistant that the dress was that openwork before I tried it on. She is extremely nasty and assures there NEVEEEEEEEEER was openwork under the arms. I look down on her and run out of the shop. Anyway, ‘Comptoirs stuffs’, your clothes, they stink.

17h20: At ‘Zadig et Molière’ pullover dresses cost 450 euros. In a size XL, I’m as comfortable as a sausage wearing a g-string.

18h00: I must have tried 38 pullover dresses on. Scratching wool, frowning jersey, sagging cotton. With or without stripes, shiny bling or very chic mouse grey. Not one, hear me out, not one made me look like something different from a delicatessen product.

18h20: I buy bermuda shorts.

To conclude, the pullover dress is not such a good idea, especially if you have, tick your choice, boobs (especially with horizontal stripes which don’t stay horizontal), a bulging out stomach (pregnancy effect and seated place in the bus guarantied), a big butt (the dress pulls up gracefully over your butt and dangles in the front). Also note that it’s extremely difficult to maintain and, unless spending 500 euros, it pills.

At least bermuda shorts, it’s handy and matches everything

Ok, I’m kidding about bermuda shorts, I just couldn’t find a punch line.


[1] TN: big shopping mall in Paris.

Only 36 left

poolpontoiseSo I went to the swimming pool on Monday evening. My body remembers and the first one to tell me « breaststroke is useless » gets a good slap across the face. As promised, I took notes during that glorious hour. Let’s go? If you love me, dive with me.

8h00: I am about to leave my place and go to work.

8h05: Fuck, that’s right, tonight I’m going to the swimming pool.

8h10: After knocking over my panties drawer, the dirty laundry bag and the man’s underpants drawer I end up finding my old swimsuit in the entrance (???) closet.

8h15: After emptying the closet, the kids’ underwear drawers and my bras drawer, I end up finding, at the bottom of the laundry bag (???), my swimming cap.

10h00: Everybody at work knows I am going to the swimming-pool tonight.

11h00: I end up being told that there is nothing special about going to the swimming-pool.

11h15: Apparently my swimming-pool is the one where Juliette Binoche was swimming in “Blue”.

11h16: A female colleague tells me that this swimming-pool is meant for good swimmers, if you don’t swim fast enough you get beaten.

11h20: A male colleague tells me that this swimming-pool is where old ladies come to chit-chat in the water, that it’s awful for good swimmers and that often he feels like beating those ladies.

11h22: What a strange idea to choose a place where YOU WEAR A SWIMMING CAP to chat.

11h23: I decide not to listen to my colleagues anymore and make my own mind.

15h00: I’m so happy to go to the swimming-pool tonight, it will do me good.

15h10: I call my friend to tell her I’m so happy to be going to the swimming-pool tonight.

15h12: My friend tells me she prepared an aqua gym program.

15h13: I’m wondering if she’s the right person to go to the swimming-pool with.

18h00: In one hour, I’m going to the swimming-pool.

18h15: I don’t want to go anymore, but I don’t dare to call my friend. I fear she’ll be mad at me.

18h16: I bravely send a text.

18h50: The man calls me to let me know how proud he is that I’m going to the swimming-pool.

18h52: “found my bag, wait 4 me, Im comin”

19h00: We meet in front of the swimming-pool. I didn’t remember how tall my friend is.

19h10: My friend is really nice she bought a nylon cap for me. It looks like an underpants but doesn’t hurt your hair.

19h15: I just won my fight with my suit. I’m already out of breath.

19h16: This swimming-pool is just as nice as in “Blue”, with an extra crowd and a few more swimming caps. I am Juliette Binoche. But blond. With a cap.

19h17: We enter the water with our underpants on our head. My friend gives me a small foam board. “The important part is leg kicks” she explains. Breaststroke is useless.

19h18: I grab my board and set forth.

19h23: There must be something I’m doing wrong.

19h25: I’m not moving, fuck.

19h29: I keep the board but do frog kicks. When I pass my friend, I do normal kicks. Luckily, it is fast. Well, she is fast.

19h32: My friend busted me. I explain that I’m not moving when I simply kick. « You must straighten your legs more », she says.

19h33: oh, alright.

19h34: At the same time if I straighten more, it will cost me a kneecap.

19h40: We do a two minutes break. I’ve swam 4 lengths. I’m super proud.

19h41: « We’re going for one k right? » my friend asks.

19h42: « Yeah, great – it’s good to have an objective, so I tell myself – how many lengths? I did four already, I must be quite close by now»

19h43: « Another 36 and you’re done »

19h44: She is so funny, my friend, it’s cool to go swimming with her, we don’t stop laughing.

19h45: She is not joking actually.

19h46: I’m desperately kicking while counting in my head. She must be crap at math and cause of a stupid group of tens error, we are now going for ten ks in this fucking swimming-pool.

19h48: 40 times 25 meter, whatever calculation method you use, gives one kilometer.

20h00: 28 left.

20h02: My friend won’t stop passing me. She annoys me so much. On top of that she is pretty, even with the cap.

20h05: I can’t believe it, a guy just hit me.

20h06: « Sorry? What? Four times? What four times? I’ve kicked you four times? I, I am, glug glug glug… sorry, burps, pfffhheuurs »

20h08: Lucky draw, one psychopath in the pool and he’s for me.

20h10: “Come on, only 14 left!”, my friend shouts. She has a sadistic smile.

20h12: however hard I think about it, I can’t find a moment when I was mean to her. However there must be an explanation to the fact that she wants to kill me.

20h14: I’ve done 35.

20h15: Yes, that’s right, the 30th was worth three.

20h16: Ok, the 24th too.

20h18: Hey no, not the 27th. Sorry but when I cheat, I tell and for that one I didn’t.

20h30: 39.

20h31: The swimming-pool closes, we must get out.

20h32: I’ll do forty, even if I must die. No one will stop me.

20h33: Foooooooooooooooooooorty. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

20h34: I’m the last one in the pool. I can’t breathe, my hair is all over the place and one of my boobs is clearing off.

20h35: My legs want to keep swimming, so it seems.

20h36: Not very handy to walk.

20h38: Three more frog kicks and I reach the changing room.

20h40: I put my clothes back on, I’m cold, my jeans are sticking to my legs.

20h41: Shit… my sock is soaked, but I was so careful.

20h42: Normal, it’s my swimming cap.

20h43: I can’t stop giggling.

20h44: I’m wasted.

20h45: I’m stoned from chlorine, it’s the only explanation.

20h50: I’m lounging in the underground. I swam one kilometer. Yeah, ok, if you remove triple-words it comes down to about 600 meters. But still!

My vibrator is a Sonia (Final instalment)

Here is the rest of the story of the much talked about day when I bought my ‘Sonia’.

I have to admit, the one on the picture is not mine. But it looks like it…

14h26: Naomi welcomes me all smiles. I can’t tell if she’s really classy or looks like a call girl. She confirms, I’m at the right place and asks if I want to go upstairs to ‘admire the different accessories’.

14h27: Naomi shows me the way. I follow her and take the narrow stairs.

14h28: I arrive in a boudoir full of pink treasures. Alluring underwear, lace bed jacket, nightdresses which seem to be screaming “tear me off”. Naomi suggests that I browse before making a choice. I know it’s not the initial goal but I think I’ll yield for this adorable and tiny cashmere tank top which, at best, will be a bra on me.

14h29: 350 euros.

14h30: Naomi, let’s get serious, show me your devices and let’s get it over with.

14h31: Naomi starts her presentation. It would be the same if she were talking about watches. “Here is one of our biggest successes, the ‘rabbit’[1]. It’s a small vibratoooooooooor very handy, which you can slip in your pocket. There is a plastic base and a deeeeeeeelicious little silicone rabbit sitting on top, the shape and texture optimize pleasure and quickly provoke clitoral orgasm.” Or else: “theeeeese are geisha balls. They are linked together with a thread which enables you to pull them out when you want. Vibrations generated when you walk provoke an indefinable pleasuuuuuuuure”.

14h32: I’m scarlet.

14h33: It’s official, I’m a real tight-ass.

14h34: Naomi just switched on one of their other hits, the lip stick vibrator. It looks like a Guerlain. She puts it in the palm of my hand.

14h34: “Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii”…

14h35: Naomi explains the lip stick is perfect for plane trips and it poses as real lip stick for customs checks. “It’s made for external use but can be used at the vagina entrance to stimulate the G spot”.

14h36: the word vagina makes me jump. When sometimes with my gynecologist I have to speak about that place, the maximum I manage to say is ‘inside’.

14h37: Sometimes I say ‘my lady part’.

14h38: Phew, here are the ducks, I’m starting to be super hot. There are three colors, pink, purple and black. Now that I look at them, they are not so appealing; they look too much like my kids’. Furthermore, Naomi precise, “they are only for external use”.

14h39: I pretend to be like “of course it’s for external use. You must be really dumb to think of something else.”

14h40: I have to get the hell out of here, Naomi is liberating me at breakneck speed, in two minutes I’ll be saying the word clitoris.

14h41: “And that small purple one, there, I was wondering, it’s slightly bent to better stimulate my clitoris or reach my G-spot?”

14h41: Brigitte Lahaye[2], out of my body, now!

14h42: I go for the nice purple one which looks like a candy and take a pink duck for my colleague.

14h43: Ducks bring cash in, I confirm! I’m not far from the 110 euros baby bodysuit.

14h44: I go back to work.

14h45: I have two vibrators in my bag.

14h46: If I get knocked over by a car, it’s the first thing the rescue squad will find.

14h47: I want to be knocked over by a car.

14h50: I hug the walls at work and pretend to be working. My colleagues give me questioning looks, I acknowledge it was super easy to be a liberated woman.

15h56: I can’t stop thinking of it.

17h45: I leave work pretending I have a migraine.

18h15: Come on go, go, go kids, hurry and finish your diner, no, daddy’s not here, he’ll come back late, yes, poor dad, it’s not nice for him, right? Yes, mummy will be a bit lonely but, don’t worry, mummy has many things to do. Come on darlings, teeth, wee-wee and in bed. Hu, what? Of course it’s time. It’s exactly 8 o’clock.

19h00: Kids are in bed.

19h01: How come, may I ask you, EXCEPTIONALLY putting my kids in bed at 19h would make me a bad mother? They were exhausted. After a good night of 14h sleep, they will be in great shape.

19h05: I take my Sonia out of its black case with strass and SR logo. Only for the case I was right.

19h06: I switch on the gem…

19h07: Hiiii !!???

19h08: Rohhhhh….

19h09: ha… ha… ha… haaaaaaaa!

19h10: I just had my first premature ejaculation.

[1] TN: in English in the original text

[2] TN: radio talk show host, actress and former pornographic actress from France.

My vibrator is a Sonia

Well, well, well… That much talked about day when I bought my ‘Sonia’ – I’ll call it like that, it’s nicer than vibrator – here is how it went…

13h30: It’s lunch time. Today is a colleague’s birthday and I had the crazy idea to give her, as a joke – yeah right! – a pink vibrating duck from Sonia’s as it is classier than going to a sex shop.

13h31: My colleagues who were supposed to come along step aside at the last minute, it’s too weird to buy something like this.

13h32: I might as well admit it right now, the idea of a sexy gift was mine.

13h33: I didn’t know I was on the divan, but right, it’s an excuse to buy one for myself.

13h45: Boulevard Saint-Germain, Paris 6ème, Sonia Rykiel’s shop’s front window is entirely black, I’m very impressed.

13h50: After walking by innocently five times, I finally enter. The bellboy looks at me with obvious contempt.

13h52:  I sink in a ten centimeter thick carpet. There are at least ten assistants – one of them looks like Gwyneth Paltrow – and two customers speaking American.

13h53: I have a discreet look at the shelves but see no ducks. I think I’ve read somewhere that the sex toys section is upstairs.

13h54: After checking, there are no stairs going up, only one going down.

13h55: It would be simpler to ask but right now I don’t feel super liberated anymore. I sneak down the spiral staircase.

13h56: “Miiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssssss???”. Shit, Gwyneth busted me. “May I help you? This section of the shop is not open to customers, kindly come up “.

13h57: “Ah, hum… yes, I… I was looking for the… I mean… Actually I’d like to buy one of your… one of your ducks…”

13h58: I’m in one of the most chic shop in the capital city, facing Gwyneth Paltrow and I just said I want to buy ‘a duck’. I’m mortified.

13h59: I can’t help it, with this 10.000 euros per square meter carpet, paneling, glitter dresses and two meter high assistants, the word ‘vibrator’ can’t pass my lips.

14h00: Appalled, Gwyneth gives me half a smile I wouldn’t mark as warm. “You mean our sex-toooooooys? I’m sorry but you’re mistaken, our specialised section is two street away, exactly in ‘de Greneeeeeeeelle’ street, miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssssssss ”

14h01: I asked for ‘a duck’. Later I’ll be remembered as the chick who went to a Madonna concert wearing Birkenstock and who asks for ‘a duck’ at Sonia Rykiel’s.

14h02: I apologise to my children, it’s the type of shame that leaves a mark on several generations.

14h03: I get out the hell of there without further ado.

14h10: De Grenelle street. Rykiel front window, must be it. I enter, there are only shoes, no stairs.

Fuck, they hide them well those ‘sex-toooooooys’. This time Gwyneth is a brunette but she’s the same. In an embarrassed whisper, for the respectable grand-mother busy trying on magnificent 300 euros Richelieux not to hear me, I ask where the sex-toys are.

14h11: Gwyneth n°2 smiles kindly. We recognized each other, we speak the same language, I’m not one of those gooses who ask for ‘a duck’.

14h12: Here it’s Rykiel shoes, explains my new friend. For sex-toys, it’s further down the street.

14h13: I realise Sonia Rykiel owes the whole de Grenelle street. Ducks bring cash in!

14h16: This time, it’s the right shop. I enter without checking. I’ve had enough, I’m overshooting my lunch break and I’m exhausted. I decide to be really liberated and shout, with my stentorian voice, an echoing: “Good day, can you please show me your VIBRATORS?”.

14h17: I’m at Rykiel Baby.

14h19: On my way out, I get a glimpse, between two completely outraged mothers and a horrified Gwyneth – isn’t it a bit worrying all those Gwyneth? – of a 110 euros baby bodysuit.

14h20: I’m wondering how many sex toys you can buy with 110 euros.

14h21: I’ve had my fill of ridicule for the next ten years. Too bad, I’ll continue giggling in front of page 456 of La Redoute catalogue. I will NEVER find out if it actually smoothes out the cheeks.

14h22: The window doesn’t give any doubt, purple suspender belts, lace nightdresses, pink and glittering masks, silky cashmere wrap-over tops, it can be only here. The shop’s name confirms it, “Rykiel Karma Body and Soul”. If I can’t make a legionnaire blush with the articles in there, I’ll be hanged.

14h23: I’m aware I’m putting my employer in a difficult situation, he must have been waiting for me for twenty minutes already but I can’t help it. I want my duck.

14h24: Hooray, no Gwyneth.

14h25: Her friend Naomi is replacing her.

To be continued…

It’s terrifeet

The day before my first day at school – and secondarily my coming back to work – the man, with his great insight, noticed I was slightly stressed, even totally paralyzed by the thought of going back to my crazy working-girl pace – yeah, I’m showing off it’s good for my ego. Thus, because he is perfect – but is it still useful to point out? – He slipped away on Sunday to come back a few moments later with a mysterious red envelope. It contained an invite for a one hour foot massage in the Chinese beauty institute in a nearby street. After two days of hard labour which screw up all benefits of my 25 days leave, I thus went yesterday afternoon – thank you part-time god – to this Asian salon, to experience one of the most zen moment in my life.

Actually, it’s normal since yesterday, I went to China…

Wanna come?

15h55: I leave my place, direction: two streets away. I’m curious and suspicious at the same time, especially looking at the dubious front window.

16h00: I enter the institute and a young woman who doesn’t speak French takes me to the massage room.

16h01: I’m in Beijing, Shanghai or Lu-Xien

16h02: Alright, Lu-Xien doesn’t exist but I just realized in terror that, right now, I can’t name more than two Chinese cities. However my geography subject during the Bac[1] was agriculture in China. I got 15 out of 20.

16h03: It was in 1989.

16h04: I took the Bac exam 17 years ago. I need a chair, like, right now.

16h05: Let’s forget about time which passes and is fatal, and concentrate on this room which exudes peace and softness.  Big tilted armchairs in which you just want to sink down are aligned, covered with rather kitsch towels.

16h06: All around there are small booths closed with curtains. Weird slapping noises are coming from them. I’m really happy not to be one the poor thing stuck in there. There’s also a Chinese temple at the end of the room. A window is open on a courtyard with trees.

16H07: Massage therapists are small brunettes, they giggle in Chinese and their names are Ding, Min or Lung. Mine will be Jing.

16h08: Jing makes me comfortable and even if she doesn’t speak French, I understand from her eyes that tearing off your toenails when you took the Bac exam fifteen years ago, it’s not very zen.

16h09: I’m lying on one of the armchair and my feet are plunged in a burning hot bath with Chinese herbs.

16h10: Jing brings me jasmine tea. I feel close to ecstasy. I close my eyes and listen to the music, the same as in my favorite Chinese restaurant.

16h12: Jing washes and scrubs my feet with a pumice-stone, I want to laugh a bit, but it feels good.

16h14: Jing dries my feet and put them on a small rectangular stool. She spreads butter which smells coco. Her hands are soft.

16h15: Jing, it’s true, we don’t speak the same language, we don’t have the same culture and we’ll have to face our families’ anger, but I truly believe we could live a beautiful story together. Let’s go to Amsterdam, get married, right now.

16h16: But now, Jing, you’re hurting me slightly.

16h17: Forget the wedding.

16h18: It is said foot sole is linked to all body parts.

16h20: The good part of feeling pain is that it gets even better afterwards.

16h21: I was not thinking of sex.

16h22: Alright, I was thinking of sex.

16h23: Jing cracks my toes. I think she tore one off.

16h24: I sneakily count, it’s fine, they are all there.

16h25: Two young fashionistas have just arrived. They don’t seem to be from the area, maybe they even crossed Paris for Jing and her friends. They look like Marie-Claire journalists.

16h26: I’ve been living for two years two meters away from a hype spot without even knowing.

16h27: I just want to tell these two girls that I live close by and I come when I want, if I feel like it.

16h28: I couldn’t help it. They say nothing but look at me in a different way, I can feel it.

16h30: Jing, I’ll come back, I promise, provided you stop tickling my ears, I’m very sensitive to it.

16h31: After checking, no one is touching my ears.

16h32: Feet are REALLY linked to ALL body parts.

16h50: Huh? What? Where am I? Oh right, in Xu-Lien, I believe I’ve slept a bit.

16h59: Jing finishes with a calves massage.

17h00: Right, you are not having a blast, cellulite, right?

17h01: Yes, I have cellulite on my calves. Except on my scalp, I don’t really know where I don’t have some.

17h12: We finish with neck, shoulders and back.

17h13: How come we’re already done, Jing ?

17h20: I end up on a Parisian pavement, I tell myself that actually China is terrifeet.

For those tempted by the trip, all this happens at Institut Feihe, 12 rue Caillaux, Paris 13ème,  01 44 23 91 70. It’s open every evening until… 23h !!!

I forgot! For a one hour massage, it costs only 28 euros, which is, I find, very reasonable…


[1] TN: Bac, short for baccalaureat, is the exam students must pass to graduate high-school in France.

Madonna and me, second part

So the rest…

21h33: The small woman starts to sing and then, the expression ‘group hysteria’ is weak. In the back, giant screens show on a loop hyper sexual images of her with horses.

21h34: Madonna hits with a riding crop chained men whom she keeps on a leash. The man looks at me with a weird smile.

21h40: Costume change. In a lamé overall, Madonna rides a sort of sequined saddle and sings “Like a virgin”. She does stuff with her hips which prove her virginity is long gone…

21h43: This woman is not 48.

21h44: I and my birkenstock are only 35 but only by watching her dance, we are very tired.

21h46: It’s a hologram of Madonna. No one should be allowed to have such a body at 48.

21h48: Actually it’s the man who became gay, he makes the same move as Madonna with his hips.

21h50: “Jump, jump”, screams the Ciccone. 17000 persons jumping in Bercy create strange vibrations. The words Heysel and Furiani come to my mind.

21h52: I suddenly remember I’m agoraphobic.

21h53: In my mind, I review the perfect security system in place for such an event and I think of all the firemen and doctors ready to resuscitate me in case my heart gives away.

21h54: My tachycardia crisis is easing itself.

21h58: Madonna dances like a demon. It’s crazy how such a small woman can have so much presence.

22h03: “The first who says it’s play-back, I’ll smash his faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaace” screams my neighbor.

22h04: He looks super serious so I don’t tell him that, still, there are moments we can hear her better than others.

22h05: “You’re right, it’s sometimes too out of tune to be play-back “, I say, with a knowing look to the man. No because I’m a fan, right, but I’m not like these 17.000 maniacs, here. I ‘ve kept a cool head, distance and good judgment.

22h06: from the look he gives me, the man didn’t manage to keep a cool head, distance and good judgment.

22h15: Madonna is wearing a white tuxedo and dances on Music. I forget my distance and good judgment and tell tachycardia to go to hell.

22h16: I shake my hands, my humps [1] and all that can shake in my body and which I can’t name in English.

22h45: Songs pass just like my life before my eyes. Ladisla Bonita reminds me of my high school best friend. “Tell me” a magic night, “Erotic”…

22h50: The disco ball which was back up is coming down again. Bercy turns totally pink. Madonna arrives on 20cm heels and wearing a sparkling bodysuit.

22h51: “It’s gonna be hung uuuuuuuuuuuuuuup”!!! Screams my neighbor, with bulging eyes.

22h51: I’m scared of my neighbor.

22h52: I realise my neighbor is the man.

22h53: Bercy has turned into a dance floor. It’s crazy. “Times goes by. So slowly”. We are totally in fusion with her. Actually we can feel that she doesn’t want it to be over. We are 17 000 but we are like one.

22h54: Now I believe we showed her the Parisian public is something else. Actually, even from where I stand, you can feel she is filled with emotion. Something special happened.

23h00: The last notes of “Hung up” vanish in Bercy’s starry sky. I feel like it’s 6AM.

23h01: Madonna is gone. Lights are switched on.

23h02: “But where is sheeeeeee?”, yells the man, like a demon. My left neighbor explains she always leave like this, no recall, nothing. “We would be the first for who she’d come back “, he tells me.

23h03: I’m sure deep down, she would have liked to come back. All this must be her manager’s fault. Moreover, she has children. Not easy to handle all this. And at least it ends on an unforgettable communion moment.

22h04: The man tells me he feels like he’s been interrupted in the middle of coitus.

23h05: Madonna, if you come back, I’ll kick your ass.


[1] TN: in English in the original text

Madonna and me, the meeting

Right, by popular demand and also because I CAN’T not mention such an evening, here is, hour by hour, minute by minute, the tale of the day I met Madonna…









9H00: I get up with sunshine in my head, tonight I’m going to Madonna’s concert  with the man.

9h02: I remind myself the tickets’ price and apologise silently to my kids. It was Madonna or their saving accounts.

9h10: I have nothing to wear to meet Madonna.

11h00: After several depressing tries – I actually didn’t really slim down during holidays – I decide to go against the 17 000 persons who will be with me tonight and play it simple. Madonna will appreciate, for sure.

11h02: I find a pair of stilletos almost never worn, with them, simplicity will take on its absolute class dimension. Madonna, hold on tight, you will get a Parisian style lesson.

11h15, 12H08, 13h45, 16h56, 17h12…: I’m going to see Madonnaaaaaaaaaa !

18h16: After wearing Birkenstock for two month, my feet obviously have changed their lives. They have kind of spread and taken shape… of my Birkenstock. I put my spike heels back in the cupboard.

19h30: I’m leaving to Madonna’s concert wearing Birkenstock.

19h32: Shame on me and my entire generation.

20h00: I’m totally against the mainstream. Nobody chose simple, there are Madonnas everywhere, Like A Virgin period, In bed with Madonna period, gothic period, disco, etc. People must think I’m at the wrong concert. At best I look like a fan of Cabrel.

20h01: I have nothing against Cabrel’s fans, actually from time to time, I like Cabrel a lot. It’s just that I poorly picked my day to look like a fan of Cabrel.

20h03: The man’s has had enough of me trying to hide my shoes. He reminds me the 17 000 Madonnas didn’t come to see me.

20h04: It’s a bit painful but puts things into perspective.

20h05: We must be the only straight couple in the public, shame on us for that too.

20h12: Next to me it’s Philippe Manoeuvre. He looks at my Birkenstock, I’m pretty sure he feels sick.

20h13: I was wrong, in front of us there are Loana and Jean-Edouard, we are two straight couples.

20h14: Oh no, Loana just turned around, she has a willy and mustache

21h00: We are finally sitting on the terraces. We have good places, it was worth scarifying the children’s studies.

21h12: The entire hall is stamping, we call Louise, the Ciccone, the Madone, Madonna.

21h30: Lights are switched off. 17 000 persons holding their breath makes noise.

21h31: A huge disco ball comes down from the ceiling, music roars, 16.698 sensitive boys are on the verge of fainting.

21h32: “She’s insiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide”, screams my neighbor in a trance.

21h33: “She’s insiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide”, I repeat, half in tears, to the man.

21h34: The disco ball opens. She’s insiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide!

21h35: I don’t know which of the group enthusiasm , the 45°C, the disco ball, the small woman in a horse rider costume getting out of it, gives me the shivers, but I have to admit, at the moment, I’m crying.

21h36: I turn towards my neighbor; he cries too but is not ashamed.

21h37: It’s official, I’m gay.

To be continued…

The Jaccuzi, part 2

After the Jacuzzi, here comes the facial…

12h16: I stand up suddenly and, mortified, get out of this divine bath. I’m sure the dragon knows all about my playing with the water spurts. But whatever, I hold my head up high. Would Catherine Deneuve be embarrassed?

12h17: I’m introduced to Nicole, she will be my beauty therapist.

12h18: She looks so nice that I decide right away Nicole will be my friend forever. He has a soft chocolate skin and in some places is curvier than me. Except that on her it looks much nicer. When she smiles, Nicole has two dimples in her high cheekbones.

12h19: I want to hug Nicole.

12h20: I think the Jacuzzi disturbed me slightly.

12h22: I settle in a treatment room. Light is subdued, a soft music lulls me and the table is more comfortable than my bed. Essential oil candles soothe me even more.

12h23: When I think about it, the music sounds like ‘The Young and the Restless’.

12h24: I’m Ashley Abott.

12h25: Nicole says she will first study my skin.

12h26: Nicole is kind, she tries to find the right words, but the verdict is final. My skin is a desperate case.

12h28: Nicole looks sorry, I comfort her and explains that I knew it already.

12h29: Nicole makes it a personal matter. She explains that nothing is ever lost and that she will try to purify my epidermis while hydrating it, because, often, a problem skin is a thirsty skin.

12h30: I say “yeah, yeah” and nod my head. She really wants to help, poor thing.

12h32: Nicole explains a whole bunch of stuff on sebaceous glands which, according to her, interpret the wrong way the messages I send them by depriving them from water and thus believe I ask them to produce more sebum.

12h35: I can’t get over how stupid my sebaceous glands are. If I’m lucky, they are plotting together with cellulite and they all spend their days producing fat galore, all this thinking they’re doing good.

12h40: I promise Nicole to play it smarter with my poor glands. Otherwise, they will stupidly continue to produce sebum, Nicole warns me.

12h42: The idea of those dumb glands conscientiously producing blackhead with their tiny hands makes me sick.

12h45: Nicole is done with my skin’s diagnosis, she’s about to start the treatment.

12h46: Her fingers smear my face with cleansing foam. Looks like Chantilly.

12h47: Nicole wipes it with warm towels scented with essential oils. A bit like in Chinese restaurants.

12h48: Nicole seems upset that I dare comparing her unaffordable essential oils scented wipes with those cheap towels they use in Chinese restaurants.

12h48: Nicole sprays ‘beauty Water’ and then ‘grape Water’ on my face. I don’t really get the difference but I don’t care. I’m in the wine yards, I can hear the crickets.

12h49: Now, scrubbing and modeling, softly, with a cream made of crushed grape seeds. Nicole has expert hands, soft and energetic at the same time. There are some glands, with their sebum stock, that are not enjoying it for sure.

12h52: “Now I’m using an moisturising mask – not astringent, ok? ” insists Nicole, who wants to make sure I’ve understood the message.

12h56: Nicole’s left me alone while the mask is on. I use that time to tell off these nasty glands. A bit of authority never hurts.

13h00: My new friend is back, she looks at me weirdly, she must have heard me making use of authority. She says nothing and cleans my face again. Warm towels again, beauty water again.

13h15: It is over. A last look at my nose. The adorable Nicole informs me that indeed I have pimples but almost no blackheads. I don’t really take note, I think that in fact I don’t want to know anything more about the private life of my epidermis.

13h16: Nicole says bye and doesn’t try to flog one million products to me. Too bad, I would have taken it all.

Conclusion: find two friends as awesome as mine and tell them it’s your birthday. I came out with baby soft skin, almost, and relaxed. Really relaxed…

For more info:

The Jacuzzi

Three months ago, two of my friends – may they be blessed amongst all women – offered me a voucher for a facial at the Spa Caudalie from the luxury hotel Meurice. My kids were away plus I had a day off at work so I went to this temple of luxury and beauty…



11h00: I leave home after changing ten times. How not to look like a destitute in a luxury hotel when 95% of your wardrobe is from H&M, Gap and other unknown brands?

11H05: I rush back up the stairs, I forgot my swimsuit for the hammam and the Jacuzzi.

11H30: I am sweat soaked when I get there, it was worth spending all this time getting ready, I look like crap. My white skirt looks like a mop and my skin is shining as if I just had applied a margarine face mask.

11H35: The receptionist looks like a dragon, she notices me right away.

11H36: Even if there are no doubts, both for her and me, that it’s my first and last time in this luxury paradise, she goes along anyways and takes me for a visit of the spa.

11h37: I run into a scale next to the changing room. The dragon seems to think I did it on purpose. My subconscious giggles, he actually did it on purpose.

11h38: I walk next to a fitness room. I dare to joke “exceptionally, I’ll skip the fitness session”

11H39: The dragon does not laugh. She seems to think that a bit of sport would do me no harm.

11h40: I put my swimsuit on as well as a bathrobe which weights five kilos and pop to the Jacuzzi.

11h42: I am Catherine Deneuve.

11h43: The water in the Jacuzzi looks like a lagoon. The room is made of black and white marble. Actually, I was born for luxury.

11H44: I realise that one of the strap on my swimsuit hangs only by a thread. This wouldn’t happen to Catherine Deneuve.

11h45: Jacuzzi is nice but I am bored, on my own.

11h47: I just discovered secret buttons for the Jacuzzi.

11h48: The first button prompts water swirls. It’s like the Jacuzzi is stroking me all over.

11H49: The second button triggers thousands of air bubbles. The Jacuzzi rumbles, it seems it is going to explode, I stop before police gets involved.

11h50: I push the button again, it really is funny.

11h52: There’s a storm in the Jacuzzi. No one comes to ask me to calm down. I am having a whale of a time.

11h54: When I am right in that position, there, bubbles tickle me nicely.

11h55: I am not bored anymore.

11h56: Can you marry a Jacuzzi?

11h12: Right when I discovered a very erogenous zone hidden below my toes, the dragon storms in. It is time for my facial.


To be continued

Under the curvy girls’ skirt

“Spring is coming, girls will dress lighter and skirts will get shorter”, two of my friends were saying gladly recently. Yes, spring is coming. And this news is far from making the curvy girl happy…

With nicer days, you will have to say good bye to big pull-over and coats which indeed don’t hide anything but are so many shields between your body and inquisitive looks. Good bye as well, close-fitting boots which enhance your calves’ shape.

Who says hot days also says naked legs. Over, slimming tights’ flat tummy effect. Gone, the illusion of a tapered leg thank to Lycra.

Summer also brings its lot of annoyances. Summer shoes straps dig into swollen feet. The curvy girl is out of breath quicker. She sweats more than average and suffers from headaches right from the first heats.

But mainly, summer means for the curvy girl the appearance of the painful and shameful ‘rubbing thighs’ syndrome. This affliction which can make you smile at first is a result, as its name states, of the extra fat on the top of the thighs. They rub against each other for each taken steps. With heat, legs tend to swell which just accentuate the phenomenon. Initially, the sensation is barely annoying. But in case of a long walk, skins get hot and thighs keep on hurting each others. Just like sandpaper against an open wound. At the end of the day, your groin is bleeding and the burn unbearable. Though, the curvy girl would rather die than talk about this bruise.

Summer is coming and boys are glad. They are far from guessing the suffering hidden under curvy girls’ skirt…