And she didn't even speak french.

I could tell.  Just by listening to her breathe, in her astoundingly average way.  This woman, hell-bent on destroying my gift shop experience, and her insipid comments and inclement pauses plague me still.  Envision a nearly perfect hotel experience.  It was intriguingly European, and accomodatingly in accordance with ettiquette and poise.  From the drive up the front entryway, through the glass doors and beyond the cordial yet unintrusive greeting from the doorman, complete with coat tails and tie.  Through a burgeoning lobby whose ceiling stretched to the heavens with smooth and sleek grace, hung with peacefully minimal light installations that doubled as artistic expressionism.  We floated across the suspended walkway carrying our stylish totes, and superfreak-danced down our hallway with glee when no one could see.  Upon unlocking the door to our assigned room, we were greeted with a wonderfully inviting and lush environment.   A plush red velvet chaise, in case we felt the need to faint.  Beds adorned with the aforementioned most heavenly bedding known to man (we are talking down feathers below and above.  Surrounded by a million teensy fluffs enrobed in egyptian white cotton, ready to envelope weary shoppers and escort them to a wondrous dreamland.), a large, modern, sleek and entirely well-lit marble bathroom that all 3 of us could apply sparkly lip gloss in, oversized headboards in neutral shades that made you lose that twinge of guilt for slipping into bed between shopping trips, french soaps and terry robes ready and waiting, and so much more.  We felt it would be practically required of us to obscure some kind of hauty sweet cordial to mull in our real-glass glasses in this place.  So duh, we did that too.  We were girls playing princess, and we totally believed every minute of it.  And so, the 3 superfreaks decided that they should explore their royal kingdom but a bit more, and see what they could see.  Perhaps they might abandon their lush quarters for the time being, and grace another fine area with their presence?  Shall we say, the bar perhaps?  Find and savour another flavour?  So away they went, and sipped spirits in the towering heart of the hotel, observing passers-by and wondering from whence they came.  And as princesses and divas are wont to do, we found a little gift shop that we just HAD to explore.  There was shopping to be had, and we were just the sort to do it.  After all, it was the purpose of our journey, was it not?  So we skipped into the closet-sized shop and perused the goods.  Having each had a cocktail or two, we had grown exceedingly giggly and perhaps at least on my account, sassy.  We looked and laughed and made jokes about everything they had, all the while the clerk seemed to glare and sigh and ignore our wildly-hilarious conversation.   Clearly she was of below-average intelligence, lest she would have found almost everything I said completely revolutionary.  (okay, I kid.)  But she was indeed a curmudgeon that kind of pissed in my proverbial shopping cheerios, so to speak.  Not that I was about to let her destroy the glorious time I was having with mah' girls, but I still begrudged her for even trying to.  I made a comment about some neckties that were for sale, and she finally felt the need to acknowledge our presence by stating 'those are a very good price, you know'.  I thought to myself, 'Oh, hello there!  You, who has been ignoring us for 15 minutes and couldn't muster a greeting when we entered your snob-store full of 8 dollar snickers.  Snickers are NOTEVENFRENCH, woman.  Isn't this supposed to be a profoundly french hotel?  I see you have 'bonjour' engraved on almost everything, so at least you are trying.  All your stuffed dogs are poodles, aren't they?  I see you sell cheese cutting boards, oui oui.  Oh, and little paper boxes with eiffel towers on them.  Touche!   But ties?  You're going to school ME on the price of TIES?!  Me, who's husband is a BANKER and I have been buying ties for EONS for him without your coaching or consent or lessons on how much ties cost?  SHADDAP, you.  .. .. not-even-french woman.'   So as I'm thinking all of that, I simply say 'Yes, they are an 'o.k' deal I suppose'.  And she shoots back, all nasally and not even with a french accent or anything because she's a big stupid poseur 'YES, THEY ARE.'  

Women who work in little gift shops in awesome french hotels who have no good reason to act like snobby french women unless they actually ARE snobby french women, in which case I would totally let her get away with it and actually be impressed, ... suck. 


Other than that, I had the most awesome weekend, ever ever ever ever.  My girls rock, and we had a blast. 


~Sarah