La Belle Provence

Back to reality.

We arrived home last night from 3 day trip to Montreal. (Two days of which were spent getting there and coming home. It wasn't Via Rail's fault or anything, it' just that damn far away.)

But I'm not going to argue with three days of purely adult conversation and an absence of responsibilities....it was very nice to get away and have a break.

I love Montreal. I heard a comedian say, once, that if the two cities were siblings, then Toronto would be the older, responsible, accountant brother, and Montreal the younger, womanizing, alchoholic brother. And he would be right. There's just such an air of.....good natured, elegant slovenliness about Montreal. Plus, the food is amazing everywhere you go, and you can buy beer at the corner store.

After meeting our dear friends Pierre and Michel for brunch at Beauty's, we hit Ste-Catherine Street for some heavy-duty shopping. You might think that I would be the one to be keen on this activity, but it's the Mister who approaches it with a steely determination. (It's the only time he ever goes shopping for clothes, so he addresses the task at hand with grim resolve and admirable tenacity. I think for him it's sort of like going into battle; you don't really want to wade in there, but you know it has to be done, and the best way to do it is to just do it.) He bought loads of very nice, funky clothes for both work and casual, and is happy he does not have to go shopping for another 18 months.

I bought a few things, including the perfect black tote bag that I have been looking for all my life.

Downtown Montreal on a sunny, crisp October afternoon is like a very well-dressed prison riot. There are tons of people, they're bumping into you and jostling for position at every corner and cash register, and they are all doing it in black leather jackets and high heels.

On Sunday night we went to the L'Oreal Colour Trophy awards, which was the finale of a competition that I neither understand or want to enter. (Hairdressing competitions baffle me; the stuff that makes me recoil in horror always seems to win.) The show itself is always fun, but it's the huddled masses that provides the real entertainment.

I cannot impress upon you what the crowd looks like at these big, hairdressing events. The telling just does not do it justice. The people watching is magnificent..... It's like they told 1000 people to dress up as hookers and freak show attractions, but with less decorum. The cocktail hour before the event is the best part of the whole night.

I tried to take some pictures of the most egregious offenders, but I was afraid someone would figure out what I was up to and take umbrage and kick my ass. (I mean, someone who has no problem going out in public looking like Tinkerbell on a 3-day bender is not going to think twice about clocking a perfect stranger.) Suffice it to say, there was one guy in a purple, velvet suit that looked just like Captain Kangaroo on acid, a woman who looked like she'd wrapped the tablecloth right off the dinette set around herself and headed on out the door and another woman with some truly horrific hair extensions that looked perhaps like she had lost a bet with a drag-queen for possession of them.

There we lots of misguided folks there that clearly took coke-addled, pantiless 18-year-old starlets as their fashion muses, and spent the evening tugging their tiny little dresses up at the front and down at the back. On the other end of the spectrum, there were lots of people that confused the daylights out of us: are they dressed as witches from "Macbeth", or Stevie Nicks, with all the layers of black nightgowns and flappy sleeves? And can we finally declare a moratorium on formal shorts? Because if they are one, they are not the other. (And while we are at it, there is nothing sexy about ass flaps. Put 'em away.)

And, lest you think that I'm just shallow and bitchy, let me say that there were lots and lots of people who were dressed elegantly and appropriately and beautifully. Here's proof:

It's the Mister on the left, our L'Oreal Sales Rep, Pat, Barb the Receptionist, myself and Matula, my co-worker of 25 years, who always looks that good, even first thing in the morning.

And then we hauled ourselves and our now very full suitcases back to the Via Rail station on Monday morning, climbed on the train and enjoyed a very well deserved 6 hour nap.
It was the best weekend.