For Bastille Day this year, I attended my friend’s fancy dress party. Unfortunately, an extensive look into my closet had me coming up short – I had nothing even vaguely Frenchy to wear. Most of my French-bought clothes are still in storage in Ohio. I brought my favorite Parisian shoes with me – but sadly I lost one of them a few months ago (I can’t bear to part with Lefty, but she sure misses Righty).
With such a definite lack of French attire, I was forced to take drastic measures… So, after applying my makeup and curling my hair, I took a deep breath and reached for my eyeliner pencil. And voila! I drew a silly little French moustache above my lip and bravely left my house.
As I arrived at the train station, I passed by six policemen, whose heads whipped around and whose laughs followed me as I rushed down the stairs toward my train. As more and more people looked and laughed- more derisively than I would have figured- I started to somewhat regret my decision.
Typically, I’m quite fearless, and I assumed that most people would figure I was going to a party. After all, I wasn’t wearing a moustache on a Tuesday night. But it was certainly more of an issue than I’d expected it to be, especially with some of the getups and costumes one sees at Flinder’s on a regular basis. It wasn’t as if I could turn around and give up, so I continuted along on my journey.
At Flinder’s street a girl (who’d obviously started celebrating early) practically screamed to her friends, “what’s wrong with that girl’s face?” I turned to her, informed her that I could indeed hear her, and walked away calmly to read my book. Her friends were mortified.
1. From Paris with love, by agaw.dilim on Flickr
2. Bethany Untied Auchettl
3. 14 Juillet, by Kiwifraiz on Flickr