Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Don't be hatin' on my French shoes.

Despite one uncomfortable episode with a Frenchman in Aix en Provence many years ago, I still maintain my love for all things French. Now that my son is taking French classes, we irritate the shit out of the non- French speakers in the house. Love that too.
These rubber wedge shoes from Rocket Dog (a young-minded footwear and clothing company founded in 1997, and named after Max, the speedy mutt of one of the creators. The Rocket Dog consumer is an independent freethinker that shuns the polished look and materialism of the previous generation) amuse and delight me, like France.
Okay, I may be stretching the whole fleur de lis Monarchy symbolism blahblahblah, but hey, how else was I going to talk about France and dog Americans who don't get the whole French thing?
If I had a scanner ( hint hint, Santa) I would insert my Rainy Day Parisian Lemonade Vendor photograph and tell you the story of waking up in the wrong bed in la Côte d’Azur. Guess you'll have to wait.
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