the gay man who stole my heart

a couple weeks ago, i spilled lebanese garlic sauce on my long black wool/cashmere coat. no big, i had been meaning to get it dry cleaned anyway. i took it to the cleaners on friday and will retrieve it after i finish writing this. but as it is monday and i had to go to work, i was left with no warm coat to wear. paris isn't that cold, but i am a wimp, and therefore wanted my long black coat.

i opted for my beautiful karen millen, utterly chic yet completely impractical, coat. that gorgeous creation that makes me so happy to see hanging in my closet. i wore an extra thin suit jacket underneath, just to stay warm. this coat is amazing. it is a piece that you would wear in antarctica because it is so beautiful and because it would keep the fire in your heart burning and alive, even though all appendages, chic as they may be, will be frostbitten.

i left work early with the hopes of catching a calm metro. i strutted my way down to the platform and i saw this man with a very nice ass, but this ass was just sticking out in the most unusual way as he gawked at a metro map hanging on the wall. i pondered the reason for this - simply a person could bend their knees and crouch down to see which lines needed to be taken to get where one needed to go. but no, this man clearly stuck his ass out like it was going out of style. what was not going out of style was the way he was dressed - skinny leg levi's with that great wash, perfect fit for that protruding ass, cream-colored chucks, army fatigue jacket. when the metro came, i noticed that he had gotten in the same car as i had. i stood there, having an idyllic moment with my ipod. i noticed him grooming himself in the window of the metro, combing through that greasy black hair, speckled with long grey strands. he fixed his collar and then re-fixed his hair. once he was satisfied with his appearance, he turned to me.

i couldnt help but notice him admiring my beautiful blue-grey floral jaquard karen millen piece of amazing craftsmanship. i saw him trying to figure out who it was by, just as i will secretly turn off my ipod and listen to people's crazy foreign languages and try to determine where they are from. and then he tapped my shoulder and motioned for me to take out my earbuds. he asked (in french, bien sur) where my coat was from. i had no idea what his words literally meant, but i knew what his question was aimed at. i told him i didn't speak good french and he asked if i spoke english. he asked where i had gotten my coat from, i responded with karen, and he said, 'oh yes, karen millen!' as if she was the newest dior (she is, i must say). he said he just loved it. i said thank you.

my night was made. he got off at trocadero. i was a bit sad to see him leave. i now know, however, that he is out there, changing the world, making it better, more fashionable place.

I LOVE THIS CITY!