With all the talk of interviews I’m in danger of believing that I’m someone interesting. Just in case that turns out to be true, I’ve spent the last few days practicing how to walk while sticking a bandy leg out of a floor length gown just like Madame Jolie at the Oscars. She’s clever that one. I never would have come up with that on my own and it might be the perfect pose for a book launch at a bar in St. John’s. I tried it out on Neil but he thought I was having some sort of seizure, so I might need to find another strategy.

Anyway, some people seem to think that my life over here is one episode of fabulous after another, so I thought I’d do a two-part exposé: a day in the life of a French diva. Let’s take yesterday. I got up at the crack of noon, lolled about in my pajamas, trolled the net, ordered a pair of shoes online that I don’t need (70% off, would’ve been irresponsible not to) and then, only because I was bored out of my skull, I tagged along with Rusty to his favourite place, the grocery store.

Apparently twirling a plucked chicken by its feet in the air is not appropriate behaviour for a budding celebrity like me or for a wife who wishes to stay married, so I had to take quick (aka blurry) photos so as not to further annoy the person who takes food shopping very seriously.

As you can see, there are some things about a French grocery store are indeed fitting for someone as fabulous as myself…

This is just the aisle reserved for Burgundy reds (I didn’t have time to snap the whole wine section which goes on for miles). So after I selected the finest vintage available for €3.49, I moved on to the bread section…

Of course I need very fancy mustard…

and beautiful bottles of limonade

No ordinary soap will do for the likes of me. I need a gourmet soap bar complete with chocolate bath salts…

Then finally I considered one of these beauties…

I’m not exactly sure what it is but any meat wrapped in red fishnet seems fitting for someone of my stature (fame and fabulousness, not height). But really, you know I’m no Angelina. She’d never show the spanx catsuit, underwire and duct tape that hold that Oscar gown together but I would. Like Viola Davis who finally, finally revealed her beautiful natural hair, this diva is willing to reveal the real deal. Next time I’ll show you what shopping in a small French town really looks like.

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