TMI: Rag and Bone and goat cheese.

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Over the years, I have developed a strong relationship with my jeans. They are my go-to uniform, and until now…most seldom fail to button and zipper after 12 squats. However, there is this one pair of white Rag and Bone’s with a black stripe down the side that likes to betray me. I think he wants to part ways, but I’m not fond of goodbyes.

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Above…the famous jeans and then me wearing them in my prime with the best visitor in Wisconsin…the one and only Dlacs (mija.)

I only shop online when I know something will absolutely fit, or the sale is too good to pass up because I’m too lazy to return anything by mail. I know my size in Rag and Bone because they are my favorite jeans of all times. I didn’t think twice about my purchase. After a quite the struggle getting them up, Yael, my twin at birth in the shopping department, notified me she had just made the same purchase and they run a full size small. Shit.

I categorized them as my “skinny” jeans, knowing a miniscule Pierre Hermé macaron would determine whether or not they buttoned. Even with this critical information ingrained in my heart and soul, I have been fully entrenching myself in a 24/7 food adventure in Paris. The truth is, before I landed in the land of croissants, I had been on a diet since age seven. I was part of the cliché who gained the freshman 15, and became slightly glum ever since. Well, until I went on a no-bullshit diet under my fabulous mentor, and self-created cousin, Alexis, who is now a life-coach. I cut out every morsel of sugar, dairy and carbs for two weeks in the beginning. I also limited my animal intake. I was basically left with egg whites, fruits, veggies, quinoa and a gym membership. The first two weeks, I was a moody bitch. You take my dark chocolate away from me, and there goes my character. But once I shed about 18 pounds and was feeling rather svelte, yet still not fully satisfied, and still longing for another ten pounds, I had a permanent smile slapped on my face. Blah blah. I can give you full-on details if you please. I’d be happy to.

The story ends with…all of this kind of going to shit because I moved to Paris. Somehow, in some screwed up way, I’ve learned to feast here without regrets. I have befriended my previous enemies: milk, quiche (my new BFF), carbs, dessert and on. Maybe my ass has seen happier days in my jeans, and my belly once looked like it wasn’t carrying a child, but guess what? I’m happier than ever. I’m living life to the fullest, justifying every bite with the idea that I need content for my blog and…yolo?

Oh, back to the jeans…why this whole post even started… I tried them on today out of sheer curiosity, because the thought of being in a bikini in Tel Aviv  next month is starting to haunt me. After a long struggle, they buttoned but I can’t breathe. Not at all.

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But it’s Sunday, and finally 50 degrees so I took my jeans for a stroll, and sat at Le QG for a chèvre and pesto tartine. You must’ve thought I would opt for a salad after telling you my life story. But nope. I sat outside with my bitter coffee and devoured my family of goats that were beautifully melted on my Poilane bread. I don’t know what was better, the actual taste of my meal, or the fact that every passerby stopped and marveled at my dish. I was a total showstopper, or I guess my tartine was…but still. Best of all, the dish was 6 euros. Bam.

Happy Sunday.

Le QG, 32 Rue de la Roquette, 75011

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3 thoughts on “TMI: Rag and Bone and goat cheese.

  1. prepare-se para Tel-Aviv. Voce ficara mais contente dentro dos seus jeans e de biquini. Escute sua avó que conhece muito bem esse problema. Take care.bjs

    Like

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