Basically everyone I talked to about going to France mentioned French boys to me, whether it was to warn me about them or to encourage me to come back with one. Cheryl Hartemink (the other Cheryl on this trip with me) said that if one of us was to hook up with a French guy, it'd be me. Really?
We went to the Musée d'Orsay for a bit this morning (getting in for free because we are students!) and art isn't everyone's cup of tea so we left around noon to get some food. We found a little café that had decently priced, good food so we went in and sat down. This tall, black guy at another table kept looking at me and I avoided eye contact and did nothing to say I saw his winks and stares.
We ate. He got up to leave. Rachel fought to get the escargot out of their shells (they don't take them out of their shells before they give them to you like they do in Canada). We paid and got up to leave. The waiter came over to me just as I was about to head out the door. He handed me a little green slip of paper, saying that the guy who'd been staring at me had told him to give it to me. It says, "Salut. Jean Philippe. (his phone number). Tu es très belle."
Well folks, what does one do when one receives a note like that? She just laughs and passes it around to all her friends and takes pictures of it and wonders at those French boys.
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