Friday night, we went to a close friend of W's for some drinks. After climbing up an elegant wooden staircase with sultry red carpeting (typical of most Parisian residences), we entered an intimate setting of dim lights and light chatter. It was a small gathering of about ten people. A few guys were whisking up drinks, while by the large window sat the girls on a big red couch, puffing smoke elegantly from their bright red lips. They appeared to be in midst of some discussion, occasionally raising their eyebrows and shrugging while speaking rapid French. French girls have this way of making you curious about their conversation yet at the same time timid about approaching them.
T and M introduced me to their friends, which meant exchanging kisses with each of them on both cheeks. After some brief introductions, I grabbed a stick with tomatoes, cheese and sausage, and started munching on it. Conversation was light, and I managed to produce some basic French, noting happily that no one has yet elected to switch to English. Someone handed me a cocktail, and then it was just nothing but quiet, intimate talk. We climbed up to the roof a bit later (which felt sneaky because it's forbidden). With a beautiful view of Paris' lights at nightfall, we sat there slightly tipsy in relaxed conversation.
~ * ~ * ~
Despite our love of soirées and flâner-ing, W and I woke up the next day bright and early, with a list of scheduled (fun, cultural, foodie) activities I had already scouted out during the week (W is actually very unFrench in his way of sharing my obsessive needs to plan and be productive, much to the perplexity of his friends).
So we checked off the list one-by-one: tennis, swimming, museums, brunch, furniture shopping, and more...museums (and expos).