Menage a trois
I now live with two French people. One is my boyfriend and the other his roommate, Caroline. Caro is such a sexy lady that one wonders if I am being too naïve by allowing the first French to live with her. Yesterday we had a girl-to-girl conversation and I expressed to her my fear: “Caro – I used the short sweet name strategically – French girls are really sexy, thin and interesting. They all have this look of mysterious and independent women that scares Spanish girls off. Even the way they hold a Malboro light is cute”. “Meri, she said, do you know that we think the same of Spanish girls?”. L’Entente had been signed and my relationship shelled. We agreed that the most dangerous girls ever are Italian.
It is quite human to find always a third party to blame or to thank for. In Benin, any good or bad thing is God's fault or gift. The other day a friend told me that the world would miss Italy if this country would not exist. We can thank Italy for so many things.
Going back to our menage a trois, another friend told me yesterday that there is one more difference between French and Spanish women: while we are Spanish-guitar roundy for most of our adolescence and early 30’s, French women have small breast and flat bums…however, there is always a however, when Spanish women have kids they become overweight mummies and incipient hair grows in the moustache area while the French young mothers stay hot for four more decades.
With this positive outlook of my mature future, I spent most of yesterday feeling like a housewife while I wait the lady I want to work for confirms she needs me: being a housewife for a day I went through some highs and lows. By 6.50am, when the clock announced wake up time, I experienced a real high knowing I could stay in bed for one or two more hours while Hugo was heading to work. By breakfast the low came: I started producing a to-do list that included tasks as vital as buy a bed duvet, call my mum or find a place to wax my legs. Hmmm. Suddenly, my Harvard education was totally overrated. Then I met a microfinance institution, Planet Finance, and my professional me came to the light only to finish the meeting wondering if I really want to do technical assistance, open a restaurant in the Mexican Caribbean or become an entrepreneur or a banker.
Confused as hell and with my daily allowance (kindly sponsored by my boyfriend) almost spent after going to the supermarket I decided that development could wait and went to fetch a gym where to exercise in the evenings. It was another high: I could already feel my body energized and tight after exercising. I felt French for a second. However, the afternoon workout never happened. Another low.
I think eating what Caro eats, brie, baguette and Lindt chocolate ‘a la pointe de fleur de sel’ will not keep my bum flat but my mood will reach the sky.
It is quite human to find always a third party to blame or to thank for. In Benin, any good or bad thing is God's fault or gift. The other day a friend told me that the world would miss Italy if this country would not exist. We can thank Italy for so many things.
Going back to our menage a trois, another friend told me yesterday that there is one more difference between French and Spanish women: while we are Spanish-guitar roundy for most of our adolescence and early 30’s, French women have small breast and flat bums…however, there is always a however, when Spanish women have kids they become overweight mummies and incipient hair grows in the moustache area while the French young mothers stay hot for four more decades.
With this positive outlook of my mature future, I spent most of yesterday feeling like a housewife while I wait the lady I want to work for confirms she needs me: being a housewife for a day I went through some highs and lows. By 6.50am, when the clock announced wake up time, I experienced a real high knowing I could stay in bed for one or two more hours while Hugo was heading to work. By breakfast the low came: I started producing a to-do list that included tasks as vital as buy a bed duvet, call my mum or find a place to wax my legs. Hmmm. Suddenly, my Harvard education was totally overrated. Then I met a microfinance institution, Planet Finance, and my professional me came to the light only to finish the meeting wondering if I really want to do technical assistance, open a restaurant in the Mexican Caribbean or become an entrepreneur or a banker.
Confused as hell and with my daily allowance (kindly sponsored by my boyfriend) almost spent after going to the supermarket I decided that development could wait and went to fetch a gym where to exercise in the evenings. It was another high: I could already feel my body energized and tight after exercising. I felt French for a second. However, the afternoon workout never happened. Another low.
I think eating what Caro eats, brie, baguette and Lindt chocolate ‘a la pointe de fleur de sel’ will not keep my bum flat but my mood will reach the sky.
Comments
Thanks for letting me know the difference between French and Spanish women. It'll come in handy during a business coffee chat.