Friday, March 7, 2008

French Girls

For a long time I've done my best to blend in,
wearing grownup shoes, learning
the rules of soccer and never
mentioning peanut butter.
It's only fair to your adoptive country, and it has its rewards.

Julien and I were having a beer in a café near Notre Dame
and two teenage girls sat down. There was
no doubt about it: they were from the United States of America,
and they were SO EXCITED TO BE IN PARIS.
Let me tell you, you could just feel the glamour of them twinkling all over, Paris-happy eyes,
tennis shoes tired from walking, sklathed in their chairs, bristling with seeegahretts,
drinking cafay, drinking cafay oh lay, and du van du van du vin!!! This is the life!
Talking a mile a minute. Oh my god. So excited to be in Paris.
We were discussing our
new president (the one they call President Bling Bling)
and I was just warming to my topic
when their was a pause in the girls’ hyperactively raphsodic
I noticed them looking at us.
“French girls are so dramatic, aren’t they?” one of them said.
They nodded blissfully and lit another seeghahrette.

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