I have new zippered knee high boots. This is significant for two reasons, one is that I've never owned the zippered kind, having to settle for slouchy leather, thanks to my soccer player calves (oh, for the legs of a dancer). The second reason this is significant is that like any prudent Yankee, I decided to spray them with silicone before wearing them for the first time, making them water tight, but also very slippery.
The SG and I received a last minute invitation to the French Consul's home for a champagne reception last night. The invitation was the result of our volunteer work for a local film foundation, proving that some good deeds are rewarded. Excited to be going somewhere so swank, I decided to silicone the boots yesterday morning, in time for the 6 o'clock reception that evening. Eight hours and two coats of silicone later, I was on my way to the French Consul's home reeking of petroleum. I was convinced someone would sidle up to SG at the party and say - "your wife's skirt is too loud, and she smells like an oil well." The SG would smack the offender across the face with his wool gloves, and it would be crossed swords at sunrise.
We got to the French Consul's house fashionably late, bien sur
, and much to my delight were offered a choice of wine, champagne, or kir
. This crimson colored combination of champagne and cassis
is a traditional French drink for celebrations, and one of my personal favorites. And how much better it tastes when served with what my friend M. called "the real stuff. the good stuff." Formidable!
In a world's collide moment, I slipped into the living room to discover that the French Consul has the same couch as my mother. As my mother would put it, "who knew?"
An hour of cocktail chatter later, it was off to a viewing of a contemporary classic of French cinema, our free passes in hand. We opted for seats in the balacony, adding a vintage touch to the evening. The lights dimmed, and ninety minutes later we tried to sneak out, both bored and confused by the film. I'd like to say we were ninjas, moving through the darkness of the theater unobserved. But my new boots slipped out from under me (damn that silicone) and I tumbled down the last steps of the balcony into the main audience.
The SG helped me to my feet, and by the time we made it to the lobby, I was overcome with giggles of embarassment. So much for the sophisticate. So much for the Francophile. How could we balance our abandonment of le cinema
? With another Francophile favorite - chocolat chaud.
LA Burdicks on Brattle Street in Cambridge is a cozy chocolatier that is usually packed with people enjoying their signature hot chocolate. It's nothing more or less than a hand made bar of dark chocolate melted into a cup and combined with just enough steamed milk to keep the mixture liquid. It's amazing - and the generous people of Burdicks will give you a large to-go cup of this elixir with a second to-go cup to share for just $4.50. The SG and I walked home, sipping the magic brew and laughing about our triumph, and my tumble, our elan
The total for this evening of international extravagance - some volunteer hours, a nasty shin bruise, and $4.50 in cash. Super fantastique.