This photo I took at Thanksgiving reminded me of Norman Rockwell’s famous painting, minus the turkey. Every year, we go to my sister Heidi’s home. This was the “kiddie” table, but a few FOFs (men, too) planted themselves there.

A fraction of the delicious and beautiful food.

Beautiful flowers and Spanish Marcona almonds. YUM.

My son and son-in-law with my daughter

The just-cooked beignets were as good, maybe even better, than the ones in New Orleans!

This doesn’t need a caption

I’ve just returned from a week-long vacation in Paris with my dear FOFriend, Mary Ann. We’ve been to this exquisite city together many times over the last 20 years, both for business and fun, and it never stops being an exhilarating experience.

This was the first time we stayed on the Rive Droite (Right Bank), at an apartment in Le Marais, which is now the hippest area of Paris. The aristocracy’s favorite place to live until the 17 century, it eventually became home to one of Paris’ main Jewish communities. When the Nazis took over France during World War 11, they enlisted the French police to round up Jews in a stadium for bicycle races in Le Marais, before shipping them to concentration camps. Now the area is packed with cool young Parisians, architects’ offices, ad agencies, galleries, bistros and boutique after boutique of edgy apparel and unique bijoux (jewelry); chocolates, cheeses and pastries, and pharmacies that sell $40 horn hair combs and upscale creams and cosmetics you’d only find in American department stores. We ate the best falafel of our lives on the Rue des Rosiers.

The tastiest falafel we ever ate, on the Rue des Rosiers

The kitchen in our flat. The far wall, which holds dinnerware and glassware, has a "porthole" which looks into the shower.

The shower on the other side of the kitchen wall

We rented our charming, loft-like flat (you don’t say apartment in Europe) from Haven in Paris. We love staying in authentic homes because it’s more comfortable and more fun than a hotel stay, and about half the price. The two French architects who own the flat made clever use of the modest space. Mary Ann and I brewed coffee every morning and enjoyed delicious yogurt we bought in a little grocery. It was fun to eat breakfast “in” and far less costly than having a simple breakfast in a cafe, which would have cost about $50 for the two of us.

Here are some highlights from the trip I thought my FOFriends would enjoy:

Playing Footsie With Fish: When we passed a tiny salon offering “fish pedicures,” we had to check it out. Sure enough, the water tanks around the perimeter were filled with dozens of tiny toothless fish that thrive on the dead skin of human feet. The moment you lower your feet into the tank, the fish come a feasting. Some prefer the heels, while others gravitate to the toes or soles. It tickles slightly at first, but after a few minutes, the sensation is soothing. We chose the 20-minute session, which was followed by a five-minute massage (by a woman, not the fish.) Believe it or not, our feet felt much softer after this unconventional treatment.

Foot deep in fish

Mary Ann and I having a fishy experience

The fish, called Garra rufa or Doctor Fish, are from Turkey, where they live and breed in the outdoor pools of some spas, and feed on the skin of patients with psoriasis. The fish only consume the affected and dead areas of the skin, leaving the healthy skin to grow. Fish pedicures are available in select salon outside Washington, DC, and elsewhere across the country, although they’re outlawed in a number of states that claim the tanks can breed disease if not properly equipped with ultraviolet lights. Our tanks were. Check out this website to see where the fishy pedicures are offered.

Wedding Crashers: Mary Ann and I went to the tony George V Hotel, near the Champs Elysees, to buy a special room spray my sister loves. The lobby was filled with lots of striking and tall (as in 6 feet) women, who were obviously French models. (We confirmed they were when we asked if we could take their photos). They were there for the wedding reception of Cedric and Mariyna, also a model. These photos speak for themselves.

Mariyna and Cedric before their wedding reception

The breathtaking flowers for the reception

A model guest

Wharton, The Writer, Not the School: “Wow, look at that gorgeous house,” I said to Mary Ann as we walked down the Rue de Varenne, one of the most beautiful streets in Paris (considering that every single street is beautiful, this is quite a compliment.)  We went to take a look at the plaque on the building and read that this was the home of writer Edith Wharton from 1910 to 1920.  ”My years of Paris life were spend entirely in the rue de Varenne –rich years, crowded and happy years,”  it read.

Edith Wharton's house in Paris from 1910 to 1920

The Most Famous Beaches in the World, Where No One Swims: Even the greatest history professors and cinematographers in the world could never translate the power of the Allied invasion of France, in June 6, 1941, like a first-hand visit to the Beaches of Normandy. It is humbling to walk on stretches of sand where thousands of soldiers gave their lives. It is impossible to fathom how 225 Rangers secretly scaled the sheer cliffs of Pointe du Hoc on Omaha Beach, supplies strapped to their backs and weapons in their hands, knowing the enemy was positioned at the top. Ninety survived.

Rosine, a 37-year-old Frenchwoman, led a stupendous full-day tour.  She works for the Memorial de Caen.

On Omaha Beach with Rosine, our marvelous tour guide

An authentic cannon outside a German bunker on Omaha Beach

The American Normandy cemetery is the final resting place for the 9,387 soliders who gave their lives for our future

Mary Bankston, one of a few women buried at Normandy

On that somber note, I will stop for today and wish you and yours a joyous Thanksgiving.

To be continued….

I am known to do some nutty things (not insane, but nutty) and the latest is buying $65 nail polish. That was not a typo. The bottle is the same size as $5 Revlon nail polish. It’s from Serge Lutens, a French photographer, filmmaker, hair stylist, perfume art director and fashion designer. I had already bought his insanely priced lipstick and love its rich color and the way it feel on my lips. So I thought I’d give the polish a try. I’ve spent $65 on sillier things.

Only two color polishes are available; one is deep cherry (I bought this)  and the other is nude. Both are supposed to look good with any woman’s skin tone.

My manicurist, Angela, loved the color, the smooth texture and the creamy consistency. It dries to a wonderful shine and feels like glass. There wasn’t a single chip after I went manicureless for two and a half weeks.

Here’s how I rationalize my purchase. The bottle of polish is going to last at least a year, so that’s a cost of a little less than 18 cents a day. A $65 hair cut lasts two months max, a cost of $1.08 a day. An eyebrow and lip wax cost $25, and last a month, which means 83 cents a day. And a massage costs $110, and lasts an hour, so that’s $2,640 a day.

BTW, I had lunch with my friend, Amy, right after I had my first manicure with my new polish. The moment she saw my nails, she said. “Where did you get that polish? I have to have it.” I swear. I didn’t wave my hands in her face or say a thing to elicit such unbridled enthusiasm.

There’s more: While I was having my second manicure yesterday with the polish fit for royalty, a FOF in the salon admired the color, so I invited her to try it.

I wonder when I’m going to tire of the color. Thank goodness, the company only has two shades and the one I didn’t buy is too light for my taste.

As I listen to all the conversation about Herman Cain’s purported sexcapades when he headed The Restaurant Association,  I recall all the “association” heads I met in the seventies, most of whom made Cain look like an amateur. As an editor of a major trade publication that covered the home furnishings business, I met the heads of furniture associations in North Carolina, cookware associations in Indiana, and electronics associations in New Jersey. They were constantly on the road, away from wives and children, attending one industry meeting and event after another. They’d congregate at hotel bars with their colleagues every single night, where they’d drink themselves silly and go after women. Gallivanting wasn’t restricted to association honchos. The heads of companies, as well as their lieutenants, jumped right into the fray. Why should they be any different than politicians and actors?

Michael Douglas didn't think his flirtation would lead to Glenn Close's "Fatal Attraction"

When I became the public relations director of a big consumer products company in the mid seventies, the married executives there screwed around non-stop. The married chief executive, as a matter of fact, was having a torrid affair with a woman who worked in my department. Everyone in the company knew about it. He’d come to our side of the office to pick her up after work. When his wife filed for divorce and asked for lots of money, he tried to enlist me to help him do damage control with the press.

Three decades ago, there were far fewer working women and we got a lot of “attention” from men who either had dismal marriages or simply craved a romp in the hay when they were away from their wives. You’d never call them “gentlemen.”  Lots of them flirted, but went no further. One I remember well, a big fat man who made a big fat salary and flirted shamelessly with one my colleagues, a perky woman 20 years his junior and a third his body mass. G, the woman in question, played it for all it was worth. The man had a big job in the industry she covered as a reporter and was a great source for her.

All this happened before “sexual harassment” entered our vernacular.   Regardless, many women enjoyed the flirtations or happily hopped into bed. I swear they did. It was rumored, as a matter of fact, that a female executive at a major fashion publication propositioned men in the industry.

Many men undoubtedly were, are and will be guilty of  making inappropriate sexual advances,  but women are not always pure as the driven snow. I wasn’t. I was not even mildly surprised to hear about Herman Cain’s behavior when he was at The Restaurant Association 15 years ago.  I do question why women felt the need to come out of the woodwork to tell us he touched them inappropriately. Would that  behavior make him a horrible president?

Presidents and presidential contenders, on both sides of the aisle,  have been having affairs for years. It didn’t seem to affect Thomas Jefferson, JFK and Bill Clinton’s performances, pun notwithstanding.