9 vs 11 cm

Any girl knows that size matters; there is a huge difference between the tiny two centimeters, going from 9 to 11 centimeters.

Any guy who doesn’t get this, well, you should try yourself!

For years I have sworn that 9 cm is just the right size for me; it guarantees the ultimate satisfaction by giving me the perfect balance and making me feel very feminine.

Along came a Jewish boy and made me change my mind. Now I am definitely a 11 cm girl, and a happy owner of Jimmy Choos. Amongst the possible models, the Jewish boy chose these ones:

Men, hommes, miehet, mænd!

I like to take long walks in the evening whenever I have time. The other day my husband wondered if I went to meet someone on my walks. Heavens! He never wonders about my Paris trips even I tell him about the fantastic restaurant Olivier took me to. He doesn’t worry at all even I just have been to Africa for 3 weeks camping with 6 Italian guys. But if I am seeing someone in my little village!

(Just like MY village people, yeah, my husband should be worried!)

Back on blogging!

Why write a lot of nonsense on one’s blog, when you can have a Jewish boy reading all your nonsense and hear him laughing all the way from Paris to Copenhagen? It is called grateful audience and it is very difficult for a girl let go when she finally finds a man who understands her humour.

I couldn’t help trying to find out if my dear Olivier is a man behind his words, “….quand je rencontre une femme comme toi, je donne tout ». I already had asked him to bring me a Statue of Liberty from New York, which he did without any complaints. When I left for Africa, missed my flight to Burkina Faso and stranded in Paris, I called the Jewish boy to come and rescue me from airport suicide, and what does he do? He brings me a box of chocolate from La Maison du Chocolat (any sucker who never heard about this, it is the best chocolate in the world!), and suddenly the one day delay for my Africa adventure wasn’t that bad at all.

When I got back home, I decided to go a step further. I asked the too-much-travelling Olivier to get me a pair of Jimmy Choo boots next time he is out of town. He had to admit that these boots were indeed very, very beautiful (not only he understands my humour, he also shares my taste in shoes!), but that HE WOULD NEVER PAY 750 EUROS FOR A PAIR OF BOOTS. What? He is single and has a great job, what is 750 Euros for him? I had even made him a budget; if I come to Paris 3 times in 2010 and he invites me out for dinner every time à 250 Euros = 750 Euros = Jimmy Choo Boots (but no dinners).

I guess it is just a matter of principles. I would neither NEVER pay 750 Euros for a liter of gasoline.



(The most beautiful boots in the world!)