I plan to wear mostly leggings, sweaters, and boots with a Barbour jacket. I look vaguely equestrian over there, which is how I think Parisian dress on weekends when they go to the country to visit their families. I wander around dressed like I don't know what day it is until Sunday, when I look just right. It's too bad that the only place I go on Sunday is to the airport.
My boots (knee-high and ankle) fill the suitcase because I need three pairs. I walk so much every day that I need to go back to the hotel and change boots, or else I can't keep going. And since at least one pair alway hurts, unpredictably and unaccountably, although I wear all three pairs in Boston constantly, I need more than one spare pair.
The weather is chilly in Paris, so at least I don't have to pack for summer and autumn temperatures. It should be very simple to pack for a few casual days and events.... but it won't be.
Possum is already packed, as you can see:
Taken with my husband's Canon; a much better camera than mine!
Bertie was trying to persuade Possy that cats can't go with us to Paris, but Possy never gives up hope. He wants to stroll along the Champs Elysèes with me, although I keep telling him I never stroll there. He wants to go to the Louvre, of course. It's painful to disappoint him, especially when he is curled up in my empty, open suitcase with an expectant expression on his fuzzy little face. I miss him the whole time I'm over there; I look at his photos on my iPhone as I roam Paris, feeling melancholy and romantic. Because I miss my cat.
Well, it's nearly 9, so I'd better start packing. It's hard to shove the kitchen sink into that little amethyst-colored suitcase.