A Nice Fling is Hard to Find

Thursday, July 12, way, way too early. Like 5:00 A.M.

I am lying in my narrow bunk bed, which feels much higher than it did when chose it, and I’m wide awake. Since Long Island is like six hours behind, I don’t know why I’m up. But I’m glad to have a few minutes on my own, since yesterday was beyond busy. After the Eiffel extravaganza we hung out at this huge park called Champ de Mars and had a little picnic of baguettes and cheese (really!).  Becca and I lay down on the grass and listened to the sounds of the city as we watched the small white clouds drift across the sky. Then we went over to the Right Bank on the other side of town and were allowed the afternoon to explore. Becca wanted to go into all the fancy couture stores on Avenue Montaigne.

“Do we have to?” I asked. “The salespeople will know we can’t afford anything.”

“Then we’ll have to look the part,” Becca said, and pulled matching black scarves from her purse and tied them around our necks. Then she tied my hair into a twist and made me tuck in my shirt so I looked more presentable and instructed me to keep my sunglasses on at all times. She is too much. Anyway, of course the stores were all glossy and polished but the salesladies smiled tightly and Bonjoured us so I guess we had them fooled. Unfortunately, the Pennies had the nerve to follow us and then the greater nerve to buy matching purses in the Louis Vuitton store. The two hundred Euros I have as spending money won’t even cover a purse’s strap.

Later we all sat down for dinner. Tonight we had mussels and fries. Of course I tried to sit next to Pierre, but it was like a mad dash to the table. Seriously. He took the head, while me, the two Pennies, Abby and even Max and Kristin acted like we were playing musical chairs and the music had just been turned off, in an attempt to claim his neighboring sides. Abby and the Canadians went left but the Pennies and I went right and ended up in an unfortunate tangle for the seat.

I lost.

Booohooo.

I sat next to Becca instead. She intermittedly talked to me between batting her eyelashes at Harold. Not that I blame her. He is definitely good for a summer fling, if you wanted to go the American route.

Which I don’t. I am not going to waste my one trip away doing something ordinary. And anyway, you would not believe how sexy Pierre could make eating a French fry look. First he’s spear it with his fork, then he’d lift it off his plate, and then he would slowly, oh so carefully, dip the fry into his mouth and then gently bite the tip off with his teeth.

Tommy, on the other hand, who was sitting diagonal from me, kept stealing fries off my plate whenever I wasn’t looking. Which was pretty often, considering I kept ogling Pierre. Tommy had his own plate of fries, so I don’t know why he found it necessary and amusing to take mine.

Even though Pierre spent most of dinner laughing and talking to the ladies who had won the seat tug-of-war (Penny with a Y and ginormous-boobed Abby), he smiled at me twice. Yes, twice. Which I think is an excellent stat, considering. Plus, halfway through the meal, he looked at me and asked, “Lindsay, did you like ze food?”

I did. But I like him even more.

It’s hot here in our room in the hostel. Too hot to sleep. I wish I had brought a thinner sleeping bag. I wish I had taken the bottom bunk.

I wonder Pierre is still sleeping. What are the chances he’s dreaming of me? Maybe I should sneak into the boys’ room and spray my perfume on his pillow. Or, even better, maybe I should spray myself with said perfume. My hair is smelling a bit like eau de feet. Perhaps I should use this extra morning time to find the shower?