I know that this is cliche, but I am in love with Paris. IN LOVE WITH IT. If Paris were a man, I'd throw it up against the wall, have my way with it, and get pregnant on purpose so it would have to be in my life forever. But most importantly, it is the setting for the magical numbr 11 date.
I have not mentioned my travel partners, but I'm here with my roomies, B and Sash, and bestie, Amy. After an evening stroll and a few glasses of champagne, we split up so the boys could hit the gay bars and the girls hit everything else.
We ran into a local jaunt and quickly met Blaise (yup, that's his name) and Quentin. Then their friend Dunno (not his name, I just don't know) joined us and I was able to practice my French. Dunno complimented me and said if I were to move to Paris for a month, he thinks I could be fluent. This made me very happy and I am now planning to do so next summer. Or Canada, I suppose, but that doesn't sound as exciting.
Many glasses of red wine later, it was on the dance floor with Quentin. It didnt take long for him to ask me if he could kiss me. Cute. Not sexy, but cute. And then it was on. Quentin couldn't take his hands off of me, bought me a rose, told me I smelled good, and was quite possessive on the dance floor. He was my boyfriend for one glorious evening.
By the by, Quentin is 22. I could be his young cool aunt, but I think pedophilia is encouraged here.
Sidebar: Amy kissed Dunno as we hailed a cab. She told me later that he is the spitting image of her brother-in-law, so that's non-creepy at all.