... that was, with all manners of sociability.
It started off on a bad foot though: I was supposed to meet a friend on Friday evening, but we called it off due to hail and a critical lack of umbrella. Certainly didn't want to be lying all bloodied up in a ditch if I didn't have any alcohol in me, I'm sure that's understandable.
So we met up on Saturday afternoon, for a drink, which I hoped would be alcohol as I was still writhing from Friday's withdrawal symptoms. Alas, she's married and they're trying for a baby, so Diet Coke it was for her. Diet Coke. I couldn't well drink on my own*, could I. Diet Coke it was for me. Lovely time, despite the depressing sobriety. Talked about life, the universe, everything. No, we're girls, so just life. OK, and boys. And why they are so... complicated. No, really, just life. Well, in fact, boys too. No...
Gah, barely managed to get out of this ridiculously girl-logicked whirlpool.
In the evening, went to have dinner at some friends. Two couples and me. I think they take pity. One of the girls is pregnant to the teeth, so cigarettes were had on the balcony (freezing cold, remember, hail the day before), but thankfully alcohol was flowing. Flowing. Girls in the lounge (?**) talking about life, the uni... kidding. We reminisced. As far back as childhood bullies and such. Very funny. Guys cooking in the kitchen - don't faint, that was their excuse to try and get the bottles for themselves. A very good time indeed.
And Sunday was spent brunching (from way way too early) with some friends. All gay and coupled up. Not really all gay, but coupled up. Not really all coupled up either. I could describe the group as a fairly balanced mix if I really wanted to make an unbiased account. But I don't really want to make an unbiased account. So let's just pretend they were all gay and coupled up. Very good time as well. The weather was glorious, so after stuffing our faces (a croissant was eaten for you, Adamant), we strolled around in Saint-Paul, Ile Saint-Louis, the Quais, etc. We saw a little shop of inventions, so full of very clever stuff that my brains are still whirling-dervishing from trying to fathom it all.
And I shall gloss over the fact that when I came back, my flat struck me as being in a horrendous post-tsunami state. Except the tsunami would be me. That was a bit of a downer. So I did what any wonderwoman of the 90's would have done. I called a friend and moaned.
* I'm going to have to learn to accept the disapproving looks, though, because pretty soon I will be drinking on my own, considering a couple of factors at play here: first, as my friends are multiplying like rabbits, alcohol is drying up pretty fast on the girls' side; second, I will be out of work in three weeks, and nothing I've done so far has had encouraging results. The natural progression does seem to be: I'm out of job, I get kicked out of the flat, I go try my parents' house, get kicked out of there too (and completely second their decision - in fact ask to be kicked out), end up living in a cardboard box on the cheapest of wine. Alone. I'm sure I'll get used to it at some point.
** I really have to go back to some English-speaking country soon. Is that the right word?