May the road not meet up to meet you(r ass)
Montreal, Canada. I'm out and about in the trendy and spendy area of Mont-Royal along St. Laurent. It is a shopper's paradise. I will never again pay full price for anything. It's the post-Christmas sales, and when the Canadians say "Sale", they really mean "BIG SALE". 50-75% off is the norm. When something is 30% off, you feel jipped.
Let me paint the picture. Sunny afternoon and it's pleasantly warm (considering it's the middle of winter). The ground is covered in yesterday's leftover snow that has melted into slush and is starting to resemble one giant Frrrozen Hot Chocolate without a straw. I'm in my Tokyo get-up: boots, faux fur-trimmed jacket, skinny jeans, that just-got-out-of-bed hairdo, leather gloves and new Louis Vuitton wallet. I've just bought my Quebecois jacket - Saio & Kyo - which I have been hunting around for days. Tweed has never looked so good.
When I leave the boutique, I am one step away from punching my fist into the air in a Rocky-I-rule moment. With cup of Joe and chocolatine pastry in hand, I'm doing John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever. I've got that in-time-to-the-music gait. Oh yes. I'm feeling good. No - I'm feeling f*#*ing fabulous. I'm Shopper Extraordinaire. I'm Napolean (though considerably better looking but just as short). I can do no wrong. Heck - even my French sounds better today than it has any other day. I am invincible. I'm living it up in Montreal.
That's when I slip on the ice.
Coffee flies all over me and I screech "SHIT!" as I fall ass over tip. I am spread-eagled on the sidewalk. At this point, I realise that all this has happened in front of a cafe that is chockers with people.
I leap up, pretending nothing has happened and continue walking down the street - 'walking' being an understatement. It's more of an undignified limp complemented by a bruised knee and squished ego. Miraculously, I have still managed to keep my pastry and cup of coffee in hand. I figure, if I hotfoot it fast enough I can hope to escape the embarrassing scene and the witnesses. And of course, I still have coffee all over me and a most conspicuous look on my face as if I've farted in a crowded elevator and everyone knows it was me.
Nature has a funny way of reminding you that no matter how hip, flashy and fabulous you may feel, reality will always bring you (and your ass) down to earth.
I'd like to borrow from the wise words of the South Park people at this point: Blame Canada.
Let me paint the picture. Sunny afternoon and it's pleasantly warm (considering it's the middle of winter). The ground is covered in yesterday's leftover snow that has melted into slush and is starting to resemble one giant Frrrozen Hot Chocolate without a straw. I'm in my Tokyo get-up: boots, faux fur-trimmed jacket, skinny jeans, that just-got-out-of-bed hairdo, leather gloves and new Louis Vuitton wallet. I've just bought my Quebecois jacket - Saio & Kyo - which I have been hunting around for days. Tweed has never looked so good.
When I leave the boutique, I am one step away from punching my fist into the air in a Rocky-I-rule moment. With cup of Joe and chocolatine pastry in hand, I'm doing John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever. I've got that in-time-to-the-music gait. Oh yes. I'm feeling good. No - I'm feeling f*#*ing fabulous. I'm Shopper Extraordinaire. I'm Napolean (though considerably better looking but just as short). I can do no wrong. Heck - even my French sounds better today than it has any other day. I am invincible. I'm living it up in Montreal.
That's when I slip on the ice.
Coffee flies all over me and I screech "SHIT!" as I fall ass over tip. I am spread-eagled on the sidewalk. At this point, I realise that all this has happened in front of a cafe that is chockers with people.
I leap up, pretending nothing has happened and continue walking down the street - 'walking' being an understatement. It's more of an undignified limp complemented by a bruised knee and squished ego. Miraculously, I have still managed to keep my pastry and cup of coffee in hand. I figure, if I hotfoot it fast enough I can hope to escape the embarrassing scene and the witnesses. And of course, I still have coffee all over me and a most conspicuous look on my face as if I've farted in a crowded elevator and everyone knows it was me.Nature has a funny way of reminding you that no matter how hip, flashy and fabulous you may feel, reality will always bring you (and your ass) down to earth.
I'd like to borrow from the wise words of the South Park people at this point: Blame Canada.
posted by Christina at 7:13 PM
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