Friends with bag borrowing benefits, a trip to France


Summertime in Paris, the truth is I had never been to Paris in late June. In fact, I have only been to Paris one other time. It was toward the end of college on spring break when a close girlfriend of mine and I visited our two friends living there abroad. We spent our days sipping coffee at cafes, shopping at flea markets, and getting hit on by pushy French boys. It was crisp during the day and even cooler at night. To be honest, I don't remember most of our night time activities, but we were the three + 1 musketeers and I'm sure they were spent giggling, gossiping, and catching up.

When my friend Libby and her husband Tim said they were moving to Paris for work, I saw the opportunity for another Paris gang hangout - this time out of school and with more Euros in my pocket. Libby's uncle (one removed..? I can never get it right) owns Tootsies and we used to work in the shop together in our early twenties. Thus, we have a longtime sisterly camaraderie of working together, through hangovers, shopping desires, and overall retail working woes. Through the years we have celebrated Passovers (even though we're shaky on the rules,) Thanksgivings, picked out her wedding dress, speculated mine, and much more.

Luckily we all have a lot in common, Libby, Raj and cooking. Raj, Tim and watches. Libby, myself, and shoes. Tim, myself, and everyone with wine. We make a great foursome.

Libby diligently set up an insiders itinerary for us. Champagne toasts, rosé all of the days, Hotel Costes, a few restaurants picked from our go to Houston dining spots, concept stores and boutiques. Going with her was the best, but also getting ready with her was.  I finally (Raj sometimes obliges me, not that we wear the same things) had someone to ponder and pour over each wardrobe detail with. "Are you wearing heels or flats?" "Pants or a skirt" "Is this a jean-on-jean acceptable place?" "Let's both wear stripes comme les francais ! " And where my wordobe was lacking (which was sadly suffering singular suitcase syndrome) she'd lend it to me. The good stuff. Let's remember here that she's been raised in designer retail, and has the bags to match. Or maybe she was just born with expensive taste, je ne sais quoi, but I had no hesitation to borrow. Now that's friends with benefits. My own on-the-go version of Bag, Borrow, or Steal, friendship included.