Paris.
When light rhymes with lies, fashion with manipulation, gastronomy with jealousy, and love with…
Okay. Maybe this is not the daily life of every Parisian. But who cares ? I know you, little frenchies. You don't care about ordinary people. You care about the elite. About all these rich spoiled brats, who spend more money in a month than you do in a year.
Because you can pretend to hate them all you want; say that they don't know what real life is; that they have no education, no sense of reality; that what matters the most is love and health. And some other kind of maybe-if-I-repeat-it-everyday-I'll-finally-convince-myself-that-my-life-doesn't-suck magic formulas.
At the end of the day, no one is fooled. You'd kill, to be one of them. You'd do anything, to have access to their golden cage signed Cartier. You'd lock yourself in, and throw the key in the Seine, with no hesitation.
And that's okay sweeties, that's perfectly normal. Everybody wants that. With some exceptions, of course. But these exceptions are the same people who wear white socks with sandals. So they don't count. Anyway.
What if I told you that I have one of these keys ? Would you love me ? Would I suddenly be your BFF ? I'm sure I would.
But there's something you need to know : this key is special. It's not like the others. This key, is my website. And you may roll your eyes right now but trust me. With it, we're going to have fun.
Precisely in the Parisian private school Beaumarchais. Full of rich spoiled brats, who are struggling to keep their scandalous secrets unknown. Good luck for that with me among them. They can be sure : some heads are gonna roll. All this mess will be bloody, so they better not wear their fanciest dress. So ? Who will be a peasant ? A noble ? A prince(ss) ? A King ? A Queen ? Let the game begin.
I know I'm a b*tch, but at least I'm rich.
Mrs. S, From Paris With Love