To stroll the streets of Paris on a warm summer night, after a satisfying meal and a bottle of Bordeaux, hand in hand with a beautiful man is the ultimate parisian experience. It had been a fabulous birthday thus far; dining at an exclusive restaurant with a reputation for the best foie gras in Paris, being officially and blatantly dissed by our waiter, and exploring the various musical options offered in the streets during the annual Fete de le Musique. Both Low and I were enjoying the warm glow of a good wine buzz as we slowly made our way back toward the Place de Vosges (and his hotel). An all girl Grunge band caught our attention, somehow the vocals didn't sound as hard in french! The bass player was a tall, lanky lesbian sporting a head shaven totally bald save for a skullcap of hair moussed to stick out in every direction from the crown of her head. "Now that's something you don't see everyday!" I discreetly whispered in Low's ear. "Fabulous!" he answered, as was his habitud. We moved on to discover a Reggae band, and a sea of dredlocks that reminded me of wall to wall shag carpet fiber from the 70's. There was a familiar aroma in the air, at once pungent and sweet, and the audience here was mellow as they swayed to the rythym of the islands. Cannabis is highly frowned upon here, but for the Fete de le Musique all is forgiven - for this night and this night only! After groovin' to a classic Bob Marley tune we moved on, our hearts filled with nostalgia. We laughed as we swapped stories of smoking our first joint back in the day, and Low was nearly creamed by a bicyclist as we briefly stepped off the curb to avoid a group of students sitting crosslegged on the sidewalk passing a bottle. It was an accident of timing; the guy on the bike zigging to avoid a young family towing a toddler, Low zagging to avoid the hippies. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed, "are you all right?" The cyclist was yelling angrily something that sounded like "What do you think you are doing you idiot, are you trying to kill me?!" (in french, so I can only surmise), and I was laughing inappropriately and uncontrollably as I always do in moments of crisis. Luckily, the french don't hold on to their anger for long, they yell and blow their horns and move on. Now we were even, having both been dissed by a parisian that night! "Fabulous!" he smiled as I pointed this out, then "I feel like I'm in the middle of a Woody Allen movie, set in Paris!" "Am I your Louise Lasser?" I joked. "No, you're my Scarlett Johannsen" he purred, and gave me a sweet little kiss. (5 bonus points) He was impressed that I remembered Louise Lasser however, and we compared notes on "Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman" as we continued our journey through the '70's and the Marais. A German oompah band was competing for airspace with a french rapper with a bad amplifier and a Mr. Microphone, and we pondered the possibilities of a marraige between the opposing forces. Sort of a tuba beat box. Suddenly I realized we had arrived at the Place de Vosges, having arrived by a side street I hadn't used before. We strolled through the place, and I explained to Low that we were walking where jousting tournaments were held in medieval times, over 800 years ago! But tonight there were no sounds of horses hoofs pounding the soil as they charged their opponents, instead a choir of 20 or 30 men and women singing acapella. We were steps away from the Pavilion de le Reine, where he was staying for the weekend. We stopped to listen to the choir, and he put his arm around my waist, giving me a little squeeze. "Happy Birthday" he cooed, and kissed me tenderly. "So..." he smiled shyly, lowering his gaze. "So..." I repeated (hoping for birthday sex). "Would you like to stay with me tonight?" He was tentative, as if I might refuse. He had, after all, racked up quite a number of bonus points since I met him! He had been a gentleman and was adorable, coming to Paris from London twice just to take me out, which made me feel pretty special. I answered with a long, seductive kiss that left no need for words, and we strolled arm in arm through the beautiful hidden courtyard of his hotel and into the lobby. "Bonsoir, monsieur!" The smaller "boutique" hotels always require you to leave yor key at the desk, and a charming young parisienne greeted us, offering an antique looking key attached to a giant gold tassel. "Je vous en prie" she answered to our "Merci", then "Bonne Soirée!"
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