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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary


Can't think of one

I just got back from the flea market at Clignancourt. It was definitely not as crowded as on the weekends, but the cool parts--Serpette, Paul Bert--were mostly closed.

Usually I donít mind running the gauntlet of sleazy trainers and pleather jacket salesmen, but today my nerves were really frazzled, and I just couldnít take it. The magic of ghetto shopping has faded for me, and the unpleasantness outstrips the fun by 10-to-1. So I donít think I will be going there anytime soon.

The good news is that I realized something funny on the metro ride home. That there are a lot of older French women who look like that insane puppet from the old Hollywood Squares.

So now Iím at home, relaxing before I tackled the next part of the day: shopping. I have to get groceries because I have been eating out way too much lately. I reproduced one of Chez Gladineís Chamber Pot Salads last night and that was pretty good except that I didnít have any bread to sop the dressing up with. I made a mad dash to the North African primeurs at 8:30 pm to get a few salad supplies, and there was not only no bread, but the entire clientele was comprised of people like me! Young folks who donít do their shopping at the ďcorrectĒ hours and have to scramble. At some point in the very near future, French shops will be open late and on Sundays. I canít wait to see this. It will make my life so much easier.

I am starting to fade. I think I need coffee. Which I will get at the cafe. Iíve got almost an entire pound of Peetís French Roast in the fridge, but I like it when someone else makes it for me.

3:02 p.m. - 2001-08-20



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