Much to the pleasure of AH and myself, Saturday night was not the unmitigated catastrophe that we had braced ourselves for. While this has its obvious upsides for us, alas, no humorous disaster stories to relate back to you all, only minor kerfuffles. And, dutifully, I will relate them regardless.
The night began with the outfit dilemma: neither AH nor I were big club-goers back in the States, and we certainly didn't know what to wear to a chic Parisian club. I decided to play it safe with a black cocktail dress from Target, and AH stuck with the button-down and black pants combo. We really looked more like we were going out to dinner with a new boss than a hip night spot, but I figured better to play it safe (I left the blue fascinator at home).
After wandering around Place de la Bastille for a good fifteen minutes (the metro exit I insisted on taking turned out to be in the exact opposite direction that we needed to go), we finally arrived at our destination. Although I had been warned by Obama friend that this was going to be an upscale establishment, the name Barrio Latino had still eased me into some amount of false security about the ambiance. But this was certainly nothing like any barrio previously conjured up in my mind. Honest to goodness, I almost turned around when I saw the line of attractive ladies working their stilettos and expertly coiffed gentlemen leading up to a brick wall of a bouncer in a black suit. The most exclusive place I'd ever been before this was an OSU bar in New York on game day. Fortunately it turns out that Obama friend has a talent for getting things to go his way, and the bouncers let us in past the line of eye-dagger shooting beautiful people.
And so we were brought back into a dimly lit room to meet the posse. AH and I pulled up our little velvet poufs to a low-set coffee table (dinner tables and chairs must be terribly gauche) and attempted introductions in our broken French. It turns out that the friends of Obama friend all spoke very proficient English, and they were all delightful. We passed the evening discussing everything from the unrest in Egypt and the violence in Mexico to the subtleties of that eternal poet, Rihanna's, lyrics ("Um, I think 'Wear me out' is a sexual reference..."). AH and I even managed to successfully navigate our first bisou-bisous (the double kiss), without causing international incident.
The company was quite the opposite of what an American would expect of a pretentious European club, and, it turns out, so was the food. AH and I were quite surprised to find ourselves dining on ridiculously overpriced jalopeno poppers, chile con carne and also, inexplicably, mozzarella sticks and spring rolls. Tasty to be sure, but mostly a better prepared version of what one could find at any Applebee's half-priced appetizer happy hour.
We did manage to give ourselves away as typical Americans by finishing more than one glass of wine; everyone still had full glasses when AH and I had each polished off at least one glass. Guess there will be no getting ferschnickity in the company of our French brethren. This will not be difficult if we continue frequenting places that charge 14 euros for a glass of Jack Daniels (note to friends and family: there'd better be a bottle of Basil Hayden waiting for me back in the states).
Just before midnight, in a testament to the sense of adventure we were feeling, I even managed to drag AH onto the dance floor with the rest of the group. It was latin music and a few couples around us were attempting some sort of salsa, but mostly there was only room to shuffle your feet and make sexy-face (BTW, you haven't seen sexy-face until you've seen AH's, I promise). But before long AH and I turned into (sweaty, claustrophobic) pumpkins and had to leave to go catch the night train home.
Before going to bed that night, I strongly encouraged* AH to send Obama friend a text thanking him for the wonderful evening and expressing our hope to do it again soon. The sentiment is sincere. I do hope I see these people again. I'll be practicing my sexy-face until then.
*screeching like an over-tired toddler
Yaaaay!
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