I’m in Paris again for Fashion Week (I say as though it’s the most natural thing in the world). I was invited back by the production company that gave me a standing room only place at the back of the room at their Ritz show last February (click here for story). I must’ve done something right (and my mind immediately goes to those six year old boots I wore with my polyester leggings) Anyway, it was a late invitation and a last minute impulse to go.
Which is how I ended up on Delta.
I am an American girl. As in American Airlines, because if I book far enough in advance I can use air miles to upgrade to business class. With only a month notice, I booked economy class on Delta (there’s that weird metallic taste I get in my mouth when I say “economy”). And with that single click to complete my reservation, I became Dickens’ Tiny Tim. “Please, sir, may I have another flight that gives me more than 50 minutes to connect in Atlanta?” Bah! Was the reply from Scrooge Delta man who actually said, “You’ll have plenty of time. You can even buy a latte”. I had minus ten minutes to get to my gate. When I got there, screaming up to the counter with both my bags and no evidence of a latte, the ticket counter girls talked about me like I wasn’t there. “She’s 31H,” one said while the other said it more like a question, “31…H?”
“I have a name!” I wanted to shout, “It’s Tiny Tim!”
Naturally 31H has no storage space (yeah and 31F has a shifty look about him) so I stuff my bag under the seat and begin to fumble for my contact case, socks, an eye mask and ear plugs. But y’all. What I couldn’t wait to put on was my new TRTL pillow which advertises as changing that coach class experience into first class! And it worked! Because not only was I more comfortable, other people were jealous of me.
I knew my room in Paris in what is called an “Apartment Hotel” would not be ready but I was told Lisette would take my bags. Lisette! I could practice my French with her! “Bonjour! Vous êtes Lisette?” But before I could get the je m’appelle bit out Lisette was squinting her eyes at me. “You so uhly”, she’s says in English with no hint of a French accent. I start to tell her I was just dropping bags as instructed but, “Why you so uhly? Your room not ready till tree.” I couldn’t help notice Lisette’s nose curl like she smelled rotting bacon. What she smelled was Tiny Tim, after eleven hours, I wreaked of it. “You come back at tree. TREE!” Her nose was really baconed-up so I went out into the streets of Paris at 8am and didn’t come back till close to tree.
When I saw myself for the first time in my room mirror I saw what Lisette saw: No makeup, dark circles, hair that says, “Oh, the TRTL pillow did something all right”. Then MY nose curled up like I’d smelled bad bacon. I took a two hour nap, freshened up and was hoping to show Lisette how well I clean up but there was another girl tending the desk. She wouldn’t make eye contact and almost bowed to me, apologizing as if she had awakened me. I said, “Oh, hello. You must be Lisette’s daughter.”
Here are photos from my endless first day. Paris is as lovely as ever. Please follow me this week as I pretend to know fashion with the hope that if all goes well, I might have a TRTL pillow I won’t be needing in the future.