Day 181: The English Girl In The Corner

Paris, Day 10. Last night I ended up at a reprisal of the Belleville Bash somewhere in the boonies of Le Marais. A similar cast of characters was assembled, but the vibe was altogether different. Partly because I wasn't on a freight train to Boozetown.

Maybe that would have been smarter.

As it was, I sat in complete silence for more than four hours while everyone spoke French (and nothing but the French) all around me. You become invisible when you don't speak the language. It's interesting. And then it's frustrating. And then it's boring as all hell.

At one point Michelle explained to everyone that I was writing a memoir of all my experiences. "When she doesn't know what people are saying," she explained in French, "she will guess or make it up."

"Ah," said the crowd. Who promptly went back to ignoring me.

So I gouged my eyes out of my effing SKULL while I slowly contracted lung cancer from these French CHIMNEY creatures and their goddamn Marlboro obsession. I spent a full hour wondering how I could unobtrusively exit the scene when I had no clue where I was and how to get to the nearest Metro station.

Which is when someone said (in French): 'We should probably speak English for awhile.' Then, the group of them spend the next TWENTY MINUTES debating (IN FRENCH) what they/we should talk about.

The final decision?

TRUTH OR DARE.

Are. You. Kidding. Me.

Number 1: Truth or dare is for fifteen year olds or Madonna circa 1991.

Number 2: After four hours of feeling like a piece of the wallpaper, a simple CONVERSATION would have sufficed.

Number 3: I would have to be very, very drunk in order to play Truth or Dare at the age of thirty-mumble with a whole schwack of lesbians on the hunt for fresh meat.

(Don't flatter yourself Jones.)

(True. Strike that.)

Anyhoo. The fact of the matter is NO ONE was drunk enough to play this game (except for the hostess who was sloshed off her gourd) but no one had any better ideas. And I, quite frankly, was not in the mood to be the Canadian killjoy who said: HOW 'BOUT WE CUT THE CRAP AND GO HOME?

So most of us just avoided Dare like the plague and stuck to Truth. Which as a writer/undercover spy, I can actually USE. Only, the first question posed to me was in the So Obvious It Hurts category: Have you ever slept with a woman?

NO. Next?

Esmeralda to Dalia: "If you could sleep with anyone here, who would it be?"
Dalia: "Melanie."
Me: "I'm flattered, but I'd be a lousy lay."
Dalia: "Ah, but I would appear to be a master."

Someone asked Gilles what his favourite aspect of sex was. He said, "Le premier fois." (The first time.)

And that's when things got deep.

What do you love most in a woman?
"Sa fragilite." Their fragility.

What turns you on?
"Feeling totally confident with someone...which is very rare for me."

And then people stopped translating, so I sat there for another forty-five minutes dreading being forced to say "Dare" and thinking about jumping out the window or going to the bathroom and never coming back or quickly Googling "do-it-yourself home teleportation," but then it was my turn again.

"Okay, Melanie Jones, truth or dare?"

Both, actually. The TRUTH is I have stage 4 carci-fucking-noma and I DARE you to stop me from high-tailing it to the subway.