One of the many delightful things about living at Cite Universitaire is that there is a cafeteria at the nearby Maison Internationale that's cheap, serves decent food and keep reasonable hours. So for the second night in a row AH and I decided to indulge ourselves in it's greasy convenience. As I was refilling our water bottle (in France they don't serve you water, they just leave caraffes of tap water on the table), I noticed a Barack Obama look-alike smiling at me. As is my instinct, I smiled back (despite my brush with Casanova). He said something in French, I tried my broken French, he switched to his broken English. He asked if he could sit with me, and so I brought him over to our table. Another French friend of his joined us, and we proceeded to have what I have come to think of as a language potluck: multiple people bringing little bits of a language to a conversation, and everyone just trying like hell to keep up. Our new Obama friend kept pushing us to use our (still fairly terrible) French, although he and his friend would help with bits of translated English when they could. While it was difficult and embarrassing at times, it was one of my few interactions with someone that didn't speak nearly fluent English and so the challenge was necessary and welcome.
Towards the end of the meal came the kicker: Obama friend has invited AH and I to a birthday party at a tres cher dance club this coming Saturday night. He then vetoed AH's shoes, and warned us not to wear jeans. So this Saturday night I will be wrangling AH into something resembling European Chic and then dragging him to a pricey dance club with a group of strangers who may or may not speak English. My friends this has the potential to my humiliating for us but vastly entertaining for you. So stay tuned.
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