…or let them eat waffles. (Belgium)

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Live from Paris it’s Saturday niiiiiiight.
This weekend has been spent visiting the stylish neighborhood surrounding Saint Sulpice Cathedral.  I have journaled over coffee, shopped for vintage dresses, and treated myself to a pedicure for which I did not know was at a “cash only” salon; so I now owe the lovely and forgiving owner 26 euro which I am delivering tomorrow.  Cheers to my final weekend in Paris and another embarrassing blunder.  I am now in the apartment, once again to myself; the little friend is in bed and the parents are out on a date

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Aspiring writer and fashion editor, fondly looking to the past to find answers for the future. Advocate for the unconventional, seeker of adventure. Spokesperson for authentic femininity and supporter of Oscar Wilde's aesthetic movement. Ballerina, violinist, traveller, storyteller, hopeful sommelier. Masculinist. Aesthete. I left my heart in the 17th arrondissement of Paris, France. Can usually be found pointing out that the emperor has no clothes on, escaping angry mobs, and making a mean chicken piccata. Indigenous to cafes, New Jersey diners, and antique stores everywhere. Working part time at a combination of all three, somewhere in Kansas. These are the musings of a modern-day nonconformist.

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