Yep i need that. NOW.

Friends, family, new acquaintances, and new partners, anyone really, often kindly ask, um… foutas? really...? why…? If they are REALLY being nice, it's something along the lines, "HOW IN THE WORLD, did you get into selling FOUTAS"!!!! It's not a common word… It's actually an ugly word. It's awkward to pronounce. From my coworkers, it was more "and as an active NP in a major ER, what gives…" Well i went crazy… Not 1013 crazy, but close (ER code for call security, as this is your moment to flip out, because your papers are now signing-you-in for 48hrs. your short stay comes with complimentary glasses of water and hospital sandwiches. Yum). In my incredibly sleep-deprived brain, I thought: the American market NEEDS THIS. I NEED THIS. THIS IS GOING TO BE THE MOST AMAZING THING. Ever. 

And anyways how hard can launching a small-business be??? I'll toss a few hours a week at it, and all will be ok. Oye. I never said i was a smart-cookie. Let's be honest, this would be the perfect avenue to express my creativity... I sure did. That ran out after 3 Instragram posts. Back to oye. So i went to school to master the chaos in the ER. Well turns out, so did the masters of small-businesses startups. So did the MASTERS of social media… Again mentioning social media. I'll stop i promise. Turns out, a MBA could be useful right-about-NOW. As I'm learning ALL about the chaos, the tricks, the shenanigans, the twists, the rage, the disappointment, the fun of launching, the i-cant-do-this moments, the partners, the FIRST sale feeling,, i realize this might have been covered in MBA class 101… Oops. 

Back to the story at hand. Well this one day…About a year ago, a light-bulb went off… Kind of. It was more of a striking like getting hit-in-the-face-moment, than magical light-bulb moment if I'm being honest. Picture this: a sky full of stars, little breeze blowing, glass of bubbles nearby, kids happily playing quietly, husband smiling , and i say to myself: I can do this. I got this… Well my moment was nothing like this. As I pride myself on being truthful, the real scene involved rain, smell of curdled milk, and tears. Yes my BIG moment was full of rain… it was a sign. Being in a magical place (south of France in July, pre-any French people around. They only take their month of vacation in August), it rained. 

So my ah-ah moment came to be after a few days of torrential rain, and finding out the hard way that my outdoor plastic-piece-of-crap-drying rack (France doesn't like to give their rental houses actual dryers… I'm not even getting into that right now) was losing to rain. Shocking a piece of crap failing me… This smart mama had left all the laundry including towels out. For days. Come on, i totally thought the sun would help… I still think my Target towels are STILL trying to dry over there. Let's be truthful: I NEEDED a fouta desperately to make MY life easier. I needed a DRY fouta like yesterday. 

Back to the rain, crap drying-rack, and FOUTAS. When i discovered foutas, it fit a simple need. A need to get rid of my soaked Target smelly and HEAVY towels. I was in paradise, and i was slightly overtaken by 3 giant repulsive-smelly-towels (my kids clearly couldn't share a towel, even though i could share with my husband). Anyhow I would wash them nightly and the stench of curdled formula would NOT leave my nostrils. As any great tourist heading to the beach, I took my gremlins for walks in the village marche, where you find beautiful tourists strutting their stuff. This tourist was only strutting her smelly, wet, disgusting towels alongside her 30lbs- 9-months-old (before the comments start, i don't remember how much he weighed BUT everyone wanted to hold him BUT just for few minutes, which really meant seconds. he was a giant. still is). So FOUTAS were like the universe saying, stop carrying heavy non-dry-repulsive towels.  TRADE THEM IN PLEASE FOR A FOUTA. PLEASE. And i did. I jumped. With both feet. And i did all this on the before-last-day of my month vacation… I never said i was smart cookie, but just a practical imperfect one. So i took a few extra foutas home...

Turns out, foutas are actually a family business. My cousin Valerie in Singapore was already master-sales-lady of foutas, with moms selling all over the world for her. She kindly took me under her wing, and sent me into the world of creating a website and shooting inventory pictures… And into the world of dealing with Atlanta customs, declarations, and the "kind" and "awesome" officers policing ALL the cargo at the busiest airport in the world (i saw the most BEAUTIFUL ferrari when attempting to locate ANYONE to help me with my fouta boxes. i didn't dream this one. i saw it for real). The rest is history… 

That's our story. That's Fouta Colors's story.