Flirty Skirty: Remembering a First Encounter with Paris

Like so many young women with a wide swath of romantic inclinations, I was quite certain that the first city in Europe I would experience would have to be Paris.  And that Paris and I, we would get along very well.

And so we did.


You know how your memories of a place can color your experience of it?  My memories were borrowed, but worked in the same way.  I was full of other people’s moony love affairs with the city, what with those books about life on the Left Bank, all the movies, the Edith Piaf songs.  I even wrote “Non, je ne regrette rien” on the cover of one of my high school text books, such a ready-for-zee-luscious-life little lass was I.

Suffice it to say that you tend to find what you’re looking for, and I found a city brimming with mystery, passion, beauty, and lots and lots of buttery sauces.  I had a good time.

This Zesty Shrine features a coquettish dancer lifting her full, layered skirts in a saucy salute.  And oh, those pink shoes, where did she find them?  Mostly, though, I covet her chartreuse, emerald and flamingo pink head dress.  I have embellished “Flirty Skirty” with found pink coral, sequins, a tiny rosebud, a flourish of unknown origins, and a remnant of vintage silk that I like to imagine was ripped from the hem of a show girl’s dress to make it just a smidge shorter.

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