You Know You are a Parisian If...

I hope Jeff Foxworthy and his redneck buddies will forgive me for borrowing their formula.

The thought occurred to me while I was reading David Lebovitz's hilarious book "The Sweet Life in Paris" about the first time he realized that he became a Parisian. It was when he got out of his comfy t-shirt and sweatpants and put on some decent clothes to go downstairs to drop his garbage bag into the apartment bin.

Personally, I resist Parisian sartorial pressures. I still wear comfortable Rockport shoes instead of pointed Richelieus favored by men here. And I refuse to have a scarf around my neck even in winter, which is a must for any self-respecting Parisian 365 days a year. They see me scarfless in December and roll their eyes and I see them with those silk pythons around their neck in August and I roll my eyes.

I have to confess, at times, I felt a bit proud for maintaining my contrarian wardrobe. Then one day, without giving it any thought I bought something and immediately realized that I had become a Parisian.

Quel horreur, indeed.

You see, I actually went to a store to buy myself a... shopping caddy.

Sure, they are handy, you can put six large water bottles, all your groceries and schlep it back home without breaking you back. They are environmentally friendly as they reduce plastic bag consumption.

And they are great to take to street markets, of which there is at least one in every neighborhood in Paris. Where I live, there are three of them every week. Fresh produce and decent prices.

Still, look at this thing, How can you pretend to be a dignified person when you have this plastic puppy follow you home?

But you know you are a Parisian if you bought this schlep-mobile without a second thought.

Oh well.