Buying a blouse: a very French dilemma

this week’s winner, watches spellbound as a mother and daughter endlessly debate a purchase in Aix-en-Provence

One of the really good things about being on holiday is the time it gives you just to sit and observe. Rob and I were at a table in a street café in Aix-enProvence, drinks in hand, and feeling the warmth of the sun. I could see directly into the elegant dress shop opposite. There was a lady, perhaps

80, holding a bottle of water and locked in earnest conversation with a friend or daughter. On reflection it had to be mother and daughter – no friend would have stood the course.

The daughter, then, was holding a blouse on a hanger in front of them both and they had been discussing it at length. The mother put down her bottle of water, then took hold of the hanger and another five minutes of conversation ensued. Every so often they would both stroke the blouse, turn it over or hold it up to a different light. Five more minutes and the shop assistant took over and held the hanger in more varied positions, so both the women had arms free to touch the blouse together. I was struggling to imagine having so many opinions about a blouse.

I’d finished my vin rouge by this time but there was no way I could leave without knowing if the lady bought the blouse. There were a few half-hearted attempts to look at other blouses but they always returned to their first and favourite. Eventually and with an air of reluctance that I could feel across the street, the blouse was returned to the rail.

At least now I could go to the toilette, and we would be able to get “l’addition”. But hey! What’s this? On my return there they were again. Right back where we started, in exactly the same spot, with the mother clutching her bottle of water and the daughter holding out the same blouse and stroking the same collar – both of them concentrating hard and wearing identical intense expressions. Rob, having given up any attempt at conversation with me by this time, had ordered another beer so I was free to see this whole thing through. Interestingly, at no point was there any movement to a changing room; mother and daughter just stood, turning the blouse round on the hanger absorbed in endless discussion. I fought the urge to rush in, plonk my credit card on the counter and say:

Sue Enticott, As Rob pointed out, he had bought cars in less time – come to that, we had bought houses

“It’s yours. Take it. Un cadeau. Fini.”

As Rob pointed out, he had bought cars in less time – come to that, we had bought houses. And yet still the Little Drama of the Expectant Blouse unfolded. Until finally the decision was made. The blouse was returned from whence it came and mother and daughter walked out of the shop.

So, if ever you wondered how French women look so chic, there is your answer. In the time it took for us to decide to buy our last house, our ladies decided not to buy a blouse.

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