Friday, May 31, 2013

Fat Kids in Paris - Breakfast

Who ever thought fashion bloggers don't eat must not have met LA and I. Well mostly, must not have met me at all because, well, I have yet to master hiding the evident cookie rolls pouring over my Kenzo cinched waistline. Like a great addict, I tend to only friend those I can enjoy a proper meals with. Nothing irritates me more than the weirdo that invites you to dinner and really meant drinks. Like that was cool in college, but for cereal, mid twenties I need ma cereal. It's like my old trainer used to say, "once a fat kid, always a fat kid."
A fat kid day in Parigi usually starts with a walk to Cafe de Flore. Sometimes I'll skip the bread, and by sometimes I mean never. And sometimes I get a cafe a lait. And Sometimes I get a half cooked egg. And sometimes my terrible French makes LA laugh so hard she needs a bloody mary at 11am. All because I accidentally ordered a half a dozen half cooked eggs. It turns out finger-pointing to order is rarely effective. Damn you egg dozen on display.