For lunch I ate at my favorite pasta place. The chef recognizes me now and greeted me with, "Bonjour, ma puce!" Now, I remember ma puce meaning "my dear" from the Pierre days. For those of you who don't know (although I'm pretty sure everyone does) I dated a Frenchman for two months. I think all women should have at least one tragic foreign love affair in their lives. It really is a cultural experience.
In fact, I had a cappuccino with my friend Lien after class. After phonétique practique, I had planned on getting an Orangina (STILL CRAVING) and waiting for the rain to pass before trekking home, but when she invited me out I thought, What the hell. She talked about how her exes from home are telling her they miss her and she hates their bad timing. "I need someone here, a French boy." Then I told her about Pierre.
She was pretty stunned and wanted to know all about it. I mean, everyone seems really impressed when I talk about it. But yeah, yeah it lasted two months and he was a party boy. You don't want to be dating one of those when you're in a transcontinental relationship.
Anyways, I like this chick. When I asked how her weekend in Paris was, she said, "Comment dit-on 'black out'?"
In other news, I'm starting to feel like Marie Antoinette because I'm eating a five-course dinner every night and my boyfriend is slowly starving to death. I feel guilty because it's my fault. He spent a lot of money on his passport and he's saving up to visit me in Paris. It's all very romantic and typical of my life, but I feel like at 20-years-old I shouldn't be pushing men into poverty. But I guess that's what I've been doing to my dad all my life.