I mentioned last time that I went to a party on Saturday night - it was a delightful occasion at which I met many lovely people. It was also an occasion at which I drank a disgraceful amount of champagne and staggered home at 4am (for those of you keeping score at home, yes, that is indeed twice in two weeks that such a thing has happened), but that was okay, because one of the lovely people I had met invited me for brunch on the Sunday. Ahhh, brunch - I had visions of a hangover-friendly, Canadian-style brunch dancing through my inebriated head - juice, caffeinated beverages, eggs, sausages, bacon, toast, things like that. Is that what I got? Not so much...
We were meant to meet there at 12:30, so I rolled out of bed at about 11:30 (looking and feeling like something the cat had vomited up) and got myself together, which was relatively easy since I was still wearing my make-up from the night before - yes, I am just pure class. Got on the Metro and got a seat. Okay, not so bad, I might get there without throwing up or my head exploding. And then.... the mariachi band got on and started playing. No, I am not kidding and that is not some sort of euphemism - two guys playing sax and trumpet along with a very loud boombox. There are often musicians on the Paris Metro and I probably could have dealt with a nice gentle bit of accordion music, but a freakin' brass section??? (And the weirdest music selection ever - "When The Saints Come Marching In", followed by "Hava Nagila" - wtf?) It was only a few stops but it was the looooongest trip of my life.
Finally I was at Bastille and started walking toward the brunch venue, when suddenly I spied a McDonald's (those of you who know me will be aware of my firm conviction that the only help for a hangover is a Big Mac and fat Coke), and even though I was already on my way to eat, I decided that it was a medical emergency and I had to have it. Good thing, too, because when I arrived at the brunch venue, it was not a cafe. Or a restaurant. It was a wine and oyster bar. Yes, wine and oysters. Take a moment to imagine yourself nauseated beyond belief, with an absolutely crushing hangover, and finding yourself surrounded by the smells of wine and oysters.
And then imagine yourself meeting what seemed like the entire expat community of Paris in such circumstances - wow, do I know how to make an awesome first impression or what? I could have lit the whole room with the glow from my bloodshot eyes, I could barely string a coherent sentence together, I was thisclose to vomiting the whole time, and I'm quite sure I was still reeking alcohol from every pore. Niiiice. But they were a very jolly group and I actually really enjoyed my afternoon. I will tell you a bit more about them at a later date if I ever see them again (which, see above, doesn't seem all that likely!) as they were an interesting bunch.
I rounded off the day by trudging home so that I could stop along the way for some KFC. What? You thought I was kidding about how classy I am?
We were meant to meet there at 12:30, so I rolled out of bed at about 11:30 (looking and feeling like something the cat had vomited up) and got myself together, which was relatively easy since I was still wearing my make-up from the night before - yes, I am just pure class. Got on the Metro and got a seat. Okay, not so bad, I might get there without throwing up or my head exploding. And then.... the mariachi band got on and started playing. No, I am not kidding and that is not some sort of euphemism - two guys playing sax and trumpet along with a very loud boombox. There are often musicians on the Paris Metro and I probably could have dealt with a nice gentle bit of accordion music, but a freakin' brass section??? (And the weirdest music selection ever - "When The Saints Come Marching In", followed by "Hava Nagila" - wtf?) It was only a few stops but it was the looooongest trip of my life.
Finally I was at Bastille and started walking toward the brunch venue, when suddenly I spied a McDonald's (those of you who know me will be aware of my firm conviction that the only help for a hangover is a Big Mac and fat Coke), and even though I was already on my way to eat, I decided that it was a medical emergency and I had to have it. Good thing, too, because when I arrived at the brunch venue, it was not a cafe. Or a restaurant. It was a wine and oyster bar. Yes, wine and oysters. Take a moment to imagine yourself nauseated beyond belief, with an absolutely crushing hangover, and finding yourself surrounded by the smells of wine and oysters.
And then imagine yourself meeting what seemed like the entire expat community of Paris in such circumstances - wow, do I know how to make an awesome first impression or what? I could have lit the whole room with the glow from my bloodshot eyes, I could barely string a coherent sentence together, I was thisclose to vomiting the whole time, and I'm quite sure I was still reeking alcohol from every pore. Niiiice. But they were a very jolly group and I actually really enjoyed my afternoon. I will tell you a bit more about them at a later date if I ever see them again (which, see above, doesn't seem all that likely!) as they were an interesting bunch.
I rounded off the day by trudging home so that I could stop along the way for some KFC. What? You thought I was kidding about how classy I am?
McDonalds and KFC in the same day. In Paris. You are an inspiration.
ReplyDeleteThank you.