We had been at the nightclub several hours when X. sat down close beside me. Around us violet lights glowed eerily on stuffed white couches, the dance floor swarmed with writhing bodies. Though it was a student soiree, drinks, even Cokes, cost 100 francs—fifteen dollars—so I'd been sipping my one complimentary screwdriver all night. After awhile a slow song hummed and the lights dimmed to a softer blue. X. moved closer and whispered, "You must experience a French kiss."Photo via www.robertdoisneau.com
I laughed and twirled my swizzle stick slowly through my drink. "You know, we have French kisses in America."
"You do?" He looked doubtful.
"Yes. And I have experienced them."
"Ah, but never from a French man."
"So they're different from American French kisses?"
He sneered. "Beh, oui! It comes from a French man."
I laughed again. "Okay, go ahead. Show me what a real French kiss is like." He leaned over and kissed me and it was the worst kiss I'd ever had. It was a long kiss and I started to feel like I was being strangled. By the time he let go of my tongue, my only thought was that I'd rather suck on my swizzle stick all night.
X. felt he'd had an altogether different affect. He leaned back, his dark eyes shining. "So you like, non?"
"Well," I said in all honesty, "it definitely was different."
Still, I let him kiss me again, in Cannes, at the top of a high hill just after we watched the pink and purple sky melt into the inky darkness of the Mediterranean. Earlier he had pulled me barefoot across the wintry beach in front of the Hôtel Carlton, filled my arms with peach roses and fed me tortellini and red wine at a sidewalk café where the waiter winked at us knowingly. ("Ah, there goes X. again," I imagined him thinking as he offered us fresh raspberries and more wine.) As for X. , all he said at the top of the hill was, "T'aime les vues, non?" Yes. Yes, I did love views. I had told him several weeks ago, and this particular view was spectacular, with a string of glowing lights now illuminating the meandering curves of the Côte d'Azur.
The kiss, though, was still bad.
Just joking! Yes, it is April Fool's Day.
Sunday night we heard of a storm brewing and headed out to our country retreat--well, really our good friends' home in the 'burbs. Slept late, drank bloodies, and sledded through mounds of fluffy snow covering the hillside. Who says you have to be a kid to enjoy a snow day?
This month I'm leaving crayons and coloring books out on the table. Well, actually, Crayola Twistable Colored Pencils and Supertips Washable Markers. I bought them, along with giant coloring books, when my youngest nieces came to visit. Then one night my oldest niece, a college junior, dragged all the goodies out and we colored away as her mother and my husband made mischief with the Grey Goose. But that's another story.
Anyway, I found it surprisingly relaxing to just scribble. Turns out there's a basis for this. It's actually a recommended activity if you're trying to quit smoking and it reduces stress. Lord knows we could all use some stress relief right now.
...and found it looks great at night too, with candles aglow. A gold tray frames the vignette and keeps it from looking messy. We'll talk more about trays later. For now, color away!
A fitting way to end the month's quotes on love and laughter. My niece Kaitlin (then aged five) announced this at a family dinner a few years ago...and I have not stopped laughing about it since.
"Marrying a man is like buying something you've been admiring for a long time in a shop window.
You may love it when you get it home, but it doesn't always go with everything else in the house."
--Jean Kerr
