"Sparkly shoes"

Hurray for the Internet for making me feel not special. Google has yet to reveal the existence of another Phoebe Maltz (I know I'm the only one), but I now know that I'm not the only person to go to Paris and seek out good food, books on the Dreyfus Affair, and Repetto ballet shoes, in that order. I, like this Gawker blogger, also had to turn down a pair of sparkly Repettos on account of how many Euros the store (Bon Marche, for what it's worth) was asking. It also helped that Jo was there, acting as the anti-shiny-shoe superego that I, of course, lack. (When we got back, I got a pair of silver Rocket Dog ballet flats at Filenes. Not the same.)