Our plans this year were put together rather "last minute" to say the least. Nothing seemed to be coming together, so we more or less "got ourselves" into a party that was being held at "Le Mouillet"(which in all other circumstances is about 45 minutes from Nantes). The theme this year was "Metro Stations" and Benoit and I decided to base our costumes on "L'Opera." Seems like a wonderful idea right? Long gown, old fashion opera glasses, high-heels, gloves while Benoit would be wearing a tux fully equipped with a bowtie, top hat, cane, and a mustache. I offered to make him a "cummerbun" and of course he said "YES" not even knowing what it was. I guess men don't wear cummerbuns in France, but they have seen them worn in American films.
I'd say that we clean up rather nice!
The party was scheduled to start at approximately 9pm. Benoit and I arrive at approximately 10:45pm. Although Benoit's hand written directions of "gauche et ensuite droite et ensuite droit encore" (left then take a right, and then right again) were exactly Magellan's best choice, I definitely didn't help with my wonderful sense of direction and my knowledge of French round-abouts and non existent street signs.
When we finally arrived, we realized that "we weren't in Kansas anymore" or were we? We had the priviledge of parking next to 35 cows and walking through their wonderful smelling and fresh "merde" (excuse my French by "shit" in English) ruining our shoes and our sense of humor. Everyone was pretty much "well lit up" to say the least by the time we got there, which they had every right to be because not only was it New Years Eve, there wasn't any heat in the house except for that produced by the fireplace in the kitchen (that no one really attended to). However, after a few glasses, we fit right in.
(I apologize, I'm still trying to learn how to use my new camera--I swear! lol)
And take two:
Ok, so maybe the third time we'll get it right:
At midnight, champagne and "bisoux" (kisses) were had by all and the speakers too had their fair share of alcohol. Just as in the U.S., French speakers are not waterproof so from midnight on, we had no music. Good think the French like to talk! So despite the long interuption of sudden silence, the invitees continued on, drinking, eating the unfortuately not so great food (I was surprised and very disappointed), talking, and having a relatively good time.
We went to bed around 5am; however, the party still carried on without us. As I said, there was no hear in the house so you can imagine that it wasn't exactly the best night's sleep I ever had.
The next morning, we woke up around 9:30am and I was again completely reassured that I was currently dating the best man in the world (besides my own father of course--Hi Dad!). In order for me not to retrace my steps through the rain and cow poop, Benoit went to get the car (in the rain the in the cow poop) drove the car as close to the house as he could, carried me the rest of the way, and plopped me down in the front seat. Now, anyone who prevents me from stepping in cow poop, that's romance to me baby!
Laura, I love your costumes! How romantic to be carried over cow poop!
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