Lost in Paris – the beginning

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I once met a woman.

She was a breathing purgatory of unmet vision. Her experienced adventures were bubbling within her, without space or time to tell her tales.

She danced on the line of “master & student” of life’s mysteries. I could tell this instantly, it read in her eyes.

We met at a December charity event. A soiree with After Five attire, at the home of the chanclor of a private university.

I didn’t meet her until the end of the evening. The prior hours of explicit social pains, made finding her all the more a treasure.

The invitation to the soiree said After Five attire. When I entered the party, I realized the invited were literally in After Five clothing ( like “after 5, just left the office”…)

Two things happened when I walked in, the women looked at me like I was a Cuban Jessica Rabbit …and their husbands looked at me like I was Jessica Rabbit.

I had be-bopped in there with a black, cocktail dress, smokey eyes, curls and heels. The gaggle of sweater vested intellectuals circled me at the foyer.

I was pulled away from the lynch mob by a friendly little lady who chattered me to the open bar & socialized herself back to the sweater vests.

I grabbed a white wine spritzer and did what any gal would – act bubbly & steered clear of any old man at cleavage level.

….to be continued.

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