Copines

This year, I got over my fear of being "the social coordinator". I pulled up my big girl culottes, rallied the troupes and set a date for a dinner with the copines. I checked in, followed up, made a restaurant reservation and then even made the executive decision to change it at the last minute when my first choice disappointed with a rule about a 45 Euro minimum per person for groups over 6.  

I think I deserve an "A" for effort because that stuff does not come easily to me - like, at all. I worry that people won't like the restaurant, that not enough people will be able to come, that my plans will fall on their face, but I realized this last night:

When it comes to restaurants and plans, most people just want others to make decisions for them to make life easy. 

I know I do. 

Which restaurant - I don't know...something good? with candles?

Which wine - uhhhh, I'll drink anything. Just please decide so that I don't have to. 

When the wine list came to our table, instead of hemming and hawing, one copine said, "Rosé non?" and that is what we drank for the rest of the night. No wondering, no who likes white, who like red, which one should we get? Plutôt sec? plutôt doux? None of that - just "une autre bouteille, monsieur - oui, la même." Easy peasy. I loved it.

The old me would have worried that not everyone liked rosé and that someone would be unhappy, but the copines rolled with the punches as I filled up their glasses with chilled rosé on a hot summer day.  We mish-mashed les entrées and les plats, shared desserts and asked for more baskets of bread. It was relaxed and I was relieved. 

At the end of the night, we peeled ourselves off of our chairs, chatting about les vacances, who would go where and when we would be back for our next dinner.  One of my dear American friends will move to Vietnam, a new friend just arrived from Ireland to live in Paris, two French copines will take an entire month off for August! My Canadian friend has started a new job and is doing some last minute get-out-of-town planning. My French-Irish-American friend will see family in Bretagne, as she grieves the loss of her sweet husband. The last time we saw each other was at his celebration of life, when we all vowed to get together more often, so saddened by what our friend was going through.  

Outside of the restaurant, as we kissed each other goodbye, making sure that everyone had a safe way home, I realized that all of the worries that prevented me from ever making plans in the past were very superficial. It doesn't matter where you eat, what the wine tastes like, or how many people can come. What matters is taking the time to see your friends, holding up those who are struggling, reminding those who are leaving that you'll miss them, welcoming new friends into your life, and enjoying the time that we do have together.


Need some chilled rosé with friends?

Chez Mademoiselle
16 rue Charlemagne
75004 Paris
Metro: Pont Marie (line 7)

My Relationship with Things - Part Deux

Thank god for girlfriends. 

I called my copine d'enfance after the ridiculous cup issues I had been having a few weeks ago. She was having an equally bad day, and as we laughed and cried over our ridiculousness, she came up with this great advice:

After every paycheck, just get one house thing that makes you happy.  Stop thinking it out so much (AKA obsessing) and just BUY THE DARN THING. 

So, last Thursday, I bought  Hema mugs.  It made me so happy to have 4 matching mugs, that on Friday I bought Hema wine glasses. 

Then I thought about getting a fifth Hema mug, just in case one broke. 

In the meantime, I started checking out Vente Privée on a regular basis...and ordered a Guy Degrenne "New Club" silverware set (that just arrived this week!). 

I was so inspired by my new things, that I decided that I must have bowls as well. So this Friday, I bought five yellow and blue Hema bowls. (And while I was there, I got that fifth mug I had been thinking about). 

Basically, I can't stop myself.

I've been so obsessed with NOT buying things that make me happy in my teeny Parisian mouse hole, that now that I've allowed myself the pleasure, I just can't seem to slow it down.

Proof: I'm typing this blog post by the lovely glow of my new taupe Asian lantern with cutouts, that casts soft shadows on my bare white walls.

Now if only I had an apartment big enough to invite people over for dinner...

Me Day

Saturday was a me day. I could tell I needed to get the heck out of dodge and just be with me. You know those kinds of days?

Saturday also happened to be my copine's birthday, and we decided that we would treat ourselves to a hammam, just like we did last winter.  It was such an amazing day that we knew it was a perfect way to spend a Saturday, chill out and feel pampered from head to toe.  

We chose the Hammam de Pacha this time, which did not have the same ambiance as the quaint Bains Montorgeuil, but we still enjoyed ourselves, ate a piping hot chicken tagine, drank freshly-squeezed juices, and came out with clean baby skin and fleur d'oranger-smelling hair. 

Like last year, we followed our spa day with shopping for kitchen stuff for my copine's new house, and I admired all of the things that I want to buy but didn't, because of my relationship with things. I was able to let go for a quick trip to Habitat, where I got a thrill out of buying new bed sheets that were on sale (to match the new pillow and mattress pad that I just purchased on vente-privée!...I really am 30, aren't I??)

My copine had dinner plans with her kids, so I wandered around the rive gauche, in and out of shops, making mental lists of all of the things that I will buy one day, when I don't live in a teeny Parisian apartment...

wine glasses, a teapot, nice plates and bowls, espresso cups with funky patterns, a large, plush rug....I could go on and on....

Don't even get me started on all of the amazing couches I saw at Habitat - I don't know why I torture myself so.

At any rate, I was going to head home, but my growling tummy told me that sushi was a better idea. I found a table for one at Sushi House, ordered a huge bâteau all to myself, and sipped my kir as I topped each roll with mounds of ginger and wasabi. 

My day ended on the phone as I walked home and chatted with my copine d'enfance - poor girl was home with the stomach flu after spending the night before up with her one-year old, also fighting the same bug. (I know how that goes - minus the sick kiddo part). She laughed and told me that I really was old, having chosen a quiet night with myself, rather than having made plans. She totally understood why that sounded absolutely perfect. And that's why we're good friends.

(Then she had to run and pray to the porcelain gods - and forgot to take me off speaker phone :-) )