"Where are you?" he asked. I told him I was at la Sorbonne.
" Come give me a bisou?"
"Do you want me to?"
" Yes!" he replied.
I, backpack and all, traipsed around the corner and waited for him outside the library and gave him a kiss on the check upon seeing him. We still haven't actually kissed yet. I rather like that he's taking his time...or maybe it's just that I'm slightly shy and haven't been bold enough to give him the go ahead. Nonetheless, we had dinner scheduled for that evening and I was excited about the possibility of him actually walking me home and planting one on me.
We parted ways after a brief rendez-vous and he left me at metro Maubert-Mutalite. I looked like hell and, in desperate need of doing laundry, the perpetual plight of the ever-insane-near-full time-nanny and grad student, looked at my watch. Between going home and meeting up with my friend R at Bastille for our weekly apero, I had one hour to buy an outfit to look presentable.
So, I did what any girl in need of a date outfit does: she goes shopping. After busting my ass non-stop nannying for eight weeks this summer, it was about high time I treated myself. Boots, black tights, a belt, and a killer tunic dress. I felt like a million bucks. SHAZAAM.
You, Monsieur Lawyer, I thought to myself, are not going to be able to resist. There is something about a good date outfit that can send your confidence through the roof. This was certainly one of them.
That was, until I was heading out the door to meet R for our 6pm apero when my boss called and told me she needed me at 9 pm. I made a point of telling her I had a scheduled dinner at 9 pm and that I would have to cancel. I am sick and tired of working for people who believe my life belongs to them. I am not cancelling next time.
I had to have a bitch-vent fest with R. Can the company I interviewed with three weeks ago for a full time position JUST LET ME KNOW ALREADY if they want me or not? So I could kiss this nanny gig goodbye and go on with my life? I'm ready to be a normal near-25 year old. With no more caregiving to kids until those kids are my own. I want my freedom back. I'm tired of being a modern day servant at someone's disposition all the time. Enough of that.
Long story short, I didn't go to dinner with Monsieur Lawyer on Monday and am currently rescheduling for this week....he spent the last half of his week in Belgium to watch a dissertation defense.
It would all just be so much easier if I didn't want to have a life, or didn't want to date, or didn't want to stay in France, and didn't want to do a PhD.
Shoot me now.
* * *
In the pouring Thursday rain, I found myself at a cafe in the sixth reading for class while I waited to grab farewell coffee with E, who leaves for Birma for 3 weeks tonight. I'm working on an expose for a seminar called "Vivre en acteur" and want to work on theatrum mundi and Corneille's Illusion Comique. I LOVE the 17th century. Maybe it's because my French ancestors left France in the middle of the century, or because it's the age classique in France, or because I love all things baroque. Whatever it is, the 17th century is mine.
There is something to love about a Parisian cafe in the rain, reading calmly with a cafe creme. This was what I was doing when two Frenchmen, also there, happened to see that I was reading Corneille.
"Sorry to disturb you, but why are you reading Corneille? We're actors and hardly anyone we know read Corneille!"
"I'm a Masters student in French Lit at the Sorbonne," I explained. I'm used to having to explain why I read works written by long dead, old Frenchmen. " I study the 17th century."
"Genial!" They exclaimed. "17th century French is pure French."
"I know," I nodded. "The Academie Francaise, Richelieu and all..."
We then got to talking. They were Actor C and Actor E and I also elaborated that I'm a foreigner. I corrected their historical inaccuracies about the 17th (non, Anne d'Autriche, Louis XIV's mother, was not Austrian, but a Spaniard...) and laughed that sometimes I know French history better than the French do.
Actor C ended up asking for my number, so we exchanged digits. Then E showed up, drenched and fresh from grabbing his Birmanian visa near the Place d'Italie. He bise'd me and Actor C had to take a phone call and our conversation was cut off awkwardly and abruptly.
E and I got to chatting. Actor C, after a while, left with Actor E, but not before waving and saying "See you soon!"
On the metro back that night, I texted Actor C apologizing for not saying goodbye properly.
"Not to worry, see you next week? Keep in touch, bise."
You never know who you'll meet and when you'll meet them in Paris.
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