France Drops Its Pants (For Running In Heels, Anyway. . . )

"...And if we can’t wear pants or burqas, what are we supposed to put on…mini-skirts? Every day? All the time? Tous les jours ? Try that in my neighborhood. Go ahead, you’ll see what I mean. My neighborhood is made up of an entire quartier of leg men, from the préfets and garbagemen and gadabouts right on down. Wear a mini-skirt in my neighborhood and you’re guaranteed to make new friends. Oh sure, all right, O.K., fine – no one’s denying that it’s a little flattering. Especially on those 'I feel fat and worthless' kind of days. But most of these ‘friends,’ the ones in my neighborhood, aren’t the kind you want or need. Sure, they can spit real good to impress you as they’re out there barking and hollering and hooting at you in the street, but that’s about it. We all know that with relationships of the deep, meaningful, profound, earth-shattering variety, good spitting skills count, sure, but they only take a couple so far. So when it comes to the wearing of pants or burqas or mini-skirts or otherwise, I’m all for a little liberté. . ."