It's once again Fashion Week in Paris and although I haven't gotten a single engraved invitation, I've seen the crowds of gawkers and photographers at various spots where I'm assuming all the beautiful people are hanging out. Meanwhile on the other side of town, your average Parisian, living on baguettes and supermarket cheese and 3 euro bottles of wine rather than oysters and champagne, is in the hunt for more reasonably priced clothing. And less than 2 euros for a bra? Sure beats paying one hundred times that for something with that couture cachet. But then again, I'm guessing if you pay that much for your unmentionables, you're in the category of people for whom price is just another number.
For a long time, we were just another typical Washington, DC family: two policy-oriented jobs, two kids, and two cars. Out of the blue, my husband got a new assignment; we ditched the old jobs and the cars (but kept the kids) and headed to Paris for what started out to be a three-year, and eventually became a four-year tour.