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La Belle Francaise (or, How Parisian Women Taught Me to be Beautiful at 40)

Standing at the copier, I hear her practical, navy blue pumps coming around the corner. She forces a smile, which feels more like a smirk, and says, “Cute dress.”  But her tone drips some sort of latent judgment that implies otherwise. I give her as genuine of a smile possible and nod a thank you. “A couple more years and you will be too old … Continue reading La Belle Francaise (or, How Parisian Women Taught Me to be Beautiful at 40)