Tuesday night was a soiree de filles. The filles involved being Julie, Sophie, Jeanne and me. You may think this means we sat around straightening our hair, eating chocolate bon bons, and talking about sex, but you would be wrong. We curled our hair.
The purpose of this particular soiree de filles was to see the Bridget Jones sequel (or as the French say, bree-JET), but first we went round to Julie and Olivier’s apartment for drinks. Naturally, Olivier was exiled because it was a soiree de filles, and it would certainly not be a soiree de filles if a mec was present, right?
I came from the East, bearing a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau. The same bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau that I WANTED to sample weeks ago at the Catherinettes party, when the rest of the world was sampling this year’s Beaujolais Nouveau, but my friends had been all “The Beaujolais Nouveau is just NOT UP TO PAR this year,” so it sat on the liquor table untouched and unloved.
Until Tuesday night, that is, when I arrive chez Julie to find the three girls sitting around a table staring at ONE EMPTY WINE BOTTLE. In situations such as this--when it is cold outside and buying more wine would require putting on one's shoes and actually MOVING--one does not scoff at Beaujolais Nouveau.
Coquette’s Wine Verdict: It tasted fruity. From that last statement, you may be thinking I know nothing about wine, when the truth is: I PRETEND to know nothing about wine until you fork over the bucks and THEN I bust out words like “insouciant” and “jejune” and phrases like “I found it bold, yet unpretentious.” I am a wine hustler. Please don’t blow my cover.
The most scintillating part of the evening was perhaps when I learned the French argot for a very naughty word. Okay, so I already knew the word, but had totally missed a jump in the conversation, causing me to believe Sophie had said the name of a metro stop I live by, causing me to say, “you mean blankity-blank metro?” when she had in fact said a very naughty word. Everyone had a good laugh at that one.
Coquette’s Film Verdict: I wasn’t expecting much, but I must say it was more of a fiasco then I POSSIBLY COULD HAVE IMAGINED. (Although I would have paid the entry fee just for the scene where Hugh Grant and Colin Firth fight like the Wonderbread-white boys they are. Brilliant.)
Really though, I ask you, how could the film have SUCKETH SO for us? US the Target Audience, who is not only the Target Audience, but also the Target Audience buzzed from all that wine and hair curling? I mean, there was a moment, en route to the cinema, where Julie actually stumbled and then said, “Geez, I don’t know if I’m even going to be able to order my ticket!” To which I replied in all seriousness, “DON’T PANIC, I can order for all of us.” And then we GIGGLED. We GIGGLED on the metro, in PUBLIC. I only admit this embarrassing fact as proof--cold, hard, evidence--that the film should have been EFFING HYSTERICAL.
The final thing you need to know is that, shockingly, my French girlfriends all decided to buy snacks before the movie--therein contradicting everything I previously believed about French eating habits and social mores. Prompting me to ask, is it possible Beaujolais Nouveau gives you the munchies?