That is what my jeans are telling me, and the photo evidence supports it.
It all started Thursday night with Rachel’s five-course 80s-inspired orgy of food. Pac-man foie gras was just the start of it.
Having barely digested the potato gratin, spring stew, watermelon gazpacho and Paris Brest that Rachel whipped up by Friday at 1 pm, it was time for lunch at Gaya.
Michael and I made these plans eons ago and it was a meal I eagerly anticipated…
… a meal that was delicious and satisfying.
It was an undeniably spectacular summer day as we traipsed through the Jardins Tuileries...
...on our way to the contemporary fashion exhibition at Le Musée Arts Décoratifs.
Afterwards, a two-hour rendez-vous with Laurel Zuckerman and Elizabeth Bard—part of WH Smith’s series at “Café Sex and the City” (Bravo, ladies!) and a quick evening apero on rue Montmartre.
A pedicure, ping-pong and pizza on Saturday…
…followed by Lionel and Sylvia’s wig party: beaucoup champagne, gummies and white chocolate fondant cake. Mon dieu. (Et bonne anniversaire, Sylvia!)
Even my attempts at exercise were thwarted this weekend. I got up early for a bike ride Sunday morning and—as obsessed as I am with the weather—I had no idea that I’d be Velib’ing straight into a thunderstorm.
So I pedaled home and parked it on the couch for some Top Chef and cereal. (So healthy!)
But at least I biked to the Champs-Elysées in the evening for the big Sex and the City viewing party that Mel organized. (I have to sleep on it. Despite the superficiality, the bad acting, the over-the-topness, I liked it (of course I did) and was so happy to see “the girls” and New York City. However, I didn’t need the gummies and cosmo dinner combo.)
Vegan Monday, here I come.