Monday, January 26, 2015

My Three Centimes

What can you buy for 3 cents these days? Not much. If you saw a penny (or centime) on the ground, you probably wouldn't even pick it up because the germs and dirt wouldn't be worth it.

But if you happen to have 3 cents in your pocket, I do know one thing you can buy—a plastic bag to carry your €89.99 boots in.

Because, you see, after spending €89.99 on a pair of boots (which is cheap for a lot of people but is kind of a big deal for me because I rarely buy clothes or shoes—have you seen the size of my closet?), you'd think they could just throw in the bag.

The first time I bought shoes at that place I bought two pairs. The lady asked, "Would you like blah blah blah?" in a tone that suggested I would NOT like "blah blah blah." Rather than ask her to repeat herself, like a normal person would, I just replied, "No."

These boots were made for walking, after paying for the bag
These boots were made for walkin', but first you have to get them home

As she pushed the two boxes across the counter and handed me my receipt, I realized she had asked if I wanted a bag. Whoops. Also, how annoying was that? Of COURSE I wanted a bag. Did she think I wanted to carry two clunky shoe boxes down the street?

When I returned to the store a few months later and bought my boots, I was ready when she asked the question. "Yes!" I proudly proclaimed. I wasn't going to struggle with boxes down the street, no sirree! I was getting a bag! You hear me, people? A plastic SACK. Spread the word!

The salesgirl stuffed the receipt and box in the sack and I was on my merry way. When I got home and extricated my new shoes from their fancy (it wasn't fancy) plastic bag, I noticed the price on the receipt: €90.02.


You're gonna charge me 3 cents for a bag when I'm already paying 90 euros? There was no way to wrap the cost of the bag into the overhead of the store? It's not like I mind paying 3 cents—it's literally pocket change—it's just the principle of charging for something that should be free.

I'm surprised they didn't charge me for the shoe box.

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Life's short. Laugh more. Buy my books at

Vicki Lesage, Author

Monday, January 19, 2015

French 101: Virgins and Baby Fleas

Sometimes I feel like I'll never learn French! Though I've lived in Paris for 10 years now, there are still so many words I don't know, so many times I trip up.

French 101: Virgins and Baby Fleas

I can talk about anything medically related to babies since I have tons of experience in that. I surprised myself in a work meeting recently where I smoothly discussed additions to the website, like all the steps necessary in adding new products or tracking tags.

But ask me what a baby seal is called and you'll be met with a blank stare. Though, to be fair, I had to look up what it was called in English too. (It's a seal pup. Could that be any cuter?)

My two-year-old son has mastered the French term for "garbage truck," which is good since he says it 24 hours a day. He also knows "baby seal," so he's got my French beat by a mile. Read on to find out what a seal pup is called in French, as well as an embarrasing story about confusing virgins with baby fleas: Mamalode: Virgins and Baby Fleas.

Vicki Lesage, Author

Monday, January 12, 2015

You Can't Kill Free Speech

By now I'm sure everyone's heard about the terrorist attack at Charlie Hebdo in Paris on January 7, 2015. It made international news, not just because it was a terrorist attack (which is obviously horrifying and shocking and newsworthy) but because 12 people were killed over a CARTOON.

Je Suis Charlie: You Can't Kill Free Speech

Free speech is something we might put pretty low on the scale of freedoms until it's threatened to be taken away. Until people are KILLED over it. The very fact I'm allowed to write this blog and write books about my partying days is a testament to free speech.

So when these terrorists tried to take it away, I fought back. With words. Here's my article on BLUNTmoms, giving an inside look on what it was like to be less than 2 miles away from the attack: You Can't Kill Free Speech.

Article on BLUNTmoms

And here's a slightly different version of the story on, complete with an adorable photo of Leo supporting the cause: The Terrorist Attacks Will Go Down in History, and I Was Cooking Hot Dogs.

Monday, January 5, 2015

Drinking Hall of Fame

Pre-pregnancy, I was quite the party girl. Parisian bars could hear me coming a mile away and scrambled to stock up on wine and shots. I was a force to be reckoned with.

Once I have one drink, I want ALL the drinks.

My liver is much happier these days, and of course I'm thrilled to have two adorable little noisemakers of my own. But, man, sometimes wouldn't it be nice to just clean out a bar? To drink ALL the drinks? Shh, liver. No one's asking you.

In honor of the good ol' days (if passing out on bathroom floors is considered "good"), raise a glass to my Drinking Hall of Fame:

Grossest Drink: Bloody Mary with too much Worcestershire sauce. Tasted like barbecue-flavored mouthwash.

Grossest Shot: Jaeger Bomb with champagne instead of Red Bull. You'll burp tiny Jaeger-bomb-covered bubbles all night.

Craziest Drink: 3 glasses of absinthe, complete with melting the sugar in a spoon like a drug addict. Considering each drink is as strong as 5 glasses of wine, I shouldn't be surprised I ended up booty shaking on the bar to "Baby Got Back."

Priciest Drink: A caipirinha at Hemingway Bar at The Ritz Paris only set me back a mere 25 euros ($32). Do you know know how many CASES of Milwaukee's Best I could buy with that?

Latest Night: 10 o'clock. In the morning.

Now, who's free Friday night?

Life's short. Laugh more. Buy my books at

Vicki Lesage, Author