the perfect fit
Another friend has come and gone.
He arrived like the last, with a backpack the size of one of the Greek islands strapped onto his body. He has also been travelling around Europe, and has spent the last six months jumping from hostel to hostel. I saw him five months ago in the South of France, and was happy to see him again in Paris.
With a week off for Toussaint-a French holiday-and the family gone on vacation, he came at a good time. We had the apartment to ourselves and four days to talk, drink, eat, walk and wander.
It was luxurious having the family's apartment, even if the first night we somehow managed to get red wine on the ceiling and grease stains on the curtains (both were successfully removed).
When we weren't busy destroying the apartment, we were making magic in the kitchen. My friend is as passionate about food as I am. We talked about food for hours, and planned feasts every night according to what we craved during the day. As we walked up metro stairs it was common for one of us to turn to the other and say "I can't wait for dinner..." We would admire what people ordered in restaurants, gaze longingly into bakeries, and cook up amazing tasting food, always accompanied by a baguette and Brie.
And because eating makes you thirsty, we weren't shy in the drinking department either. The first night we polished off two bottles of wine and a case of beer. I don't drink beer, but my friend enjoys both at the same time.
I love to find another lush.
The time passed quickly and it was good to remember I was young again. It was good to hear myself laugh so hard.
He has a similar sense of humour, and laughed at my side as I faked orgasms climbing stair after stair up to the Sacre Coeur in Montmartre. Bad jokes lasted days, but in the best of ways.
I liked having a young man at my side, and even though I'm all for feminism, I never complained when he bought my coffee or carried my groceries. He even went through various shoe stores with me, holding my things while I inspected shoe after shoe, and eventually helped me pick out the sexiest heels. To top it off he carried them afterwards.
A week off and a familiar face put me in a good place. I'm revitalized, even with a hangover, and happy to be living in Paris. I've seen a little more of the city lately, and it seems that the more I see, and the longer I stay, the better it fits.
He arrived like the last, with a backpack the size of one of the Greek islands strapped onto his body. He has also been travelling around Europe, and has spent the last six months jumping from hostel to hostel. I saw him five months ago in the South of France, and was happy to see him again in Paris.
With a week off for Toussaint-a French holiday-and the family gone on vacation, he came at a good time. We had the apartment to ourselves and four days to talk, drink, eat, walk and wander.
It was luxurious having the family's apartment, even if the first night we somehow managed to get red wine on the ceiling and grease stains on the curtains (both were successfully removed).
When we weren't busy destroying the apartment, we were making magic in the kitchen. My friend is as passionate about food as I am. We talked about food for hours, and planned feasts every night according to what we craved during the day. As we walked up metro stairs it was common for one of us to turn to the other and say "I can't wait for dinner..." We would admire what people ordered in restaurants, gaze longingly into bakeries, and cook up amazing tasting food, always accompanied by a baguette and Brie.
And because eating makes you thirsty, we weren't shy in the drinking department either. The first night we polished off two bottles of wine and a case of beer. I don't drink beer, but my friend enjoys both at the same time.
I love to find another lush.
The time passed quickly and it was good to remember I was young again. It was good to hear myself laugh so hard.
He has a similar sense of humour, and laughed at my side as I faked orgasms climbing stair after stair up to the Sacre Coeur in Montmartre. Bad jokes lasted days, but in the best of ways.
I liked having a young man at my side, and even though I'm all for feminism, I never complained when he bought my coffee or carried my groceries. He even went through various shoe stores with me, holding my things while I inspected shoe after shoe, and eventually helped me pick out the sexiest heels. To top it off he carried them afterwards.
A week off and a familiar face put me in a good place. I'm revitalized, even with a hangover, and happy to be living in Paris. I've seen a little more of the city lately, and it seems that the more I see, and the longer I stay, the better it fits.
posted by Gillian Young at 8:15 AM
1 Comments:
It's good you have a week off, Gill. Sounds like it was worth it. I agree, by the way. Feminists can let a guy carry some shit once in a while. We WANT to do that, girls. It's not always about propogating the male domination.
Post a Comment
<< Home