This conversation reminded me that I still had things left at Monsieur Flâneur's apartment. Fuck. He has my snow boots, scarves, hats and doudoune; my puffy coat. These were things that I didn't need back in April when I was moving out of our apartment as the trees were irritatingly blooming their buds. It's now November and if this winter echos last winter than I will need these accoutrements in approximately 3.5 weeks.
I made the mistake of bringing this up over dinner. I explained that I didn't want to see MF or subject my innocent friends to the long overdue 'collecting of the things' exercise and figured that the best person to do the job would be Eric, my uncle's driver. I know how weird and shady that sounds but allow me to explain; my uncle, who works in the food business comes to Paris often and his driver who has become a friend of mine and knows MF would be more than happy to help me pick up my puffy coat.
Séb and Julien were clearly not listening to me and took me saying 'my uncle's driver Eric who is in Paris' as my Italian uncle Richie who is in Paris which then snowballed into a mafia scene of "Uncle Richie" showing up at MF's flat, speaking like The Godfather and holding out a gun saying "Gimme the puffy coat, gimme the puffy coat!" while scratching his chin and blowing him away with an AK-47.
The two of them entertained themselves for 20 minutes with this fabricated mafia scene that included gun shots, blood, dead ex-fiancés and the feathers of my puffy coat raining down MF's apartment in Oberkampf. Good Lord! Anne-Laure and I looked at each other, rolled our eyes and left them to their fantasy of a Coppola trilogy and went into the kitchen to make coffee.
Apparently this dream hasn't left either of their minds because this is what I found in my e-mail in box this morning from the two of them:
I love it. Nothing says Monday morning like Tony Soprano sprinkled with Godfather by way of Ella Coquine drama innuendos.
Happy Monday mes amis!
