Another late night, another pair of tired,
drooping eyes sitting opposite a computer screen. Yep, that's me in a
nutshell. Last night I experienced my first house-party in Paris, and I'm
glad to say I made it out alive. It was the 19th birthday of the guy I'm
living with and he had about 30 friends around to celebrate till the wee hours
of the morning. I wasn't sure what gift to get him so I made my merry old
way to the supermarket and found a bottle of Champers for just over a tenner.
It probably tasted rancid but I presumed that by the time he drank it, he
wouldn't have known the difference between a €50 bottle and my cheapo
version. I mean, how many 19 year olds can really appreciate a good glass
of Champagne anyway? I know I can't, and I'm 20.
So last night was pretty entertaining. I
use the word entertaining on purpose, rather than incredible or amazing.
Why? Well, all in all it was a very fun night, but a few things
"went down'' which I shall recount. Of course I shall try my best to
protect the identity of anyone involved. Emphasis on the word
"try".
First off: The whole kissing on two cheeks
thing is starting to piss me off. I don't even want to say how many
people I was forced to kiss last night. You know how in the UK we'll ''judge''
someone on their handshake? I mean, there's nothing like a limp handshake
to ruin your day. Likewise, you don't want all the blood in your hand
squeezed into your elbows now, do you? It's all about maintaining the
right level of pressure and grip. I don't want to feel like you're
handing me a fish, but I also don't want a Chinese burn. In France
however, handshakes don't really happen. Although I've had a few people,
on realising that I'm English, who have insisted on throwing their right hand
at me. Perhaps to make me feel more at home? But it just feels
strange. But back to kissing. Last night I experienced a range of
kissing techniques. Some of them were so airy fairy that it was like the
kisses just got lost in translation and never quite arrived. Maybe that's
their style, or maybe the person was repulsed by me. Hoping it's the
former. Others practically slapped the side of your face with their
cheek, while some almost drooled half way down your face. I'm not sure
whether there's an art to giving "la bise'' or not; are you actually
supposed to kiss their cheek, or is it really much more of a cheek bash with a
few added sound effects? Beats me. And apparently stubble is à la
mode with 19 year old guys - if I wanted to make out with a porcupine, I'd let
you know.
And if we're going to mention technique, I might
as well mention strategies. Where exactly on the face should this kiss be
placed? Are we talking slap bang in the middle of the cheek, or perhaps a
little closer to the mouth, just to be that bit more daring? But then
perhaps that's a little too cheeky for when you've only just met. And
then there are those kisses which are encroaching on an ear nibble, which is
just plain nasty. Which gets me thinking of those weirdly
"romantic" gestures boys sometimes make which involve hair smelling
(or in some cases "eating") because they drunkenly insist it tastes
like strawberries. I'd rather you consumed my bottle of Herbal Essences -
my hair doesn't look or smell this great for you to salivate all over it!
And then you get the tongue down throat, I
want to rape your face type kisses. Thankfully I didn't have to
endure any of those last night but let's just say the party was home to quite a
lot of PDA. You know that slightly uncomfortable moment when you realise
that the two people next to you are practically eating each other’s faces off
and you've unconsciously been staring at them for the past 5 minutes? You
want to pretend you're disgusted, but frankly, it's pure entertainment and
you're loving the spectacle. And then you turn to your right and two
people are going at it against a wall and all you can think of is ''oh DO get a
room! But please, not on my luxury Egyptian cotton!''
Then you notice the guy in front of you on the
dance floor is inching his way closer and closer towards you with his mouth
hanging open, like a lion ready to pounce on a deer. As much as the inside of your mouth looks
tempting young chap, I'd rather lick a doorknob. No offence…
And then you fall into bed at 3am when the party
is still going strong because you remember that you do in fact have work on
Sunday morning which requires a reasonable level of level-headedness. You then realise that some partygoer has left
a half-empty bottle of Kronenburg next to your bottle of deodorant which means
they were probably having a drunken nosy around your room. You frantically check your laptop is still
alive and functioning and that someone didn’t hang it off the balcony as a practical
joke. But maybe that’s more of an
English thing. You then wake up at 4am
to find a boy in the middle of your bed in between you and your friend who
seems insistent on “joining in” on the fun.
A random Italian who cannot speak French and therefore cannot understand
that you want him to leave. One thing
leads to another and you end up commissioning a troop of five men to heave him
out of your bed. Only in Paris!
Watch this “personal” space.
Montana
No comments:
Post a Comment