Diaries Magazine

Wild Women Do.

Posted on the 15 April 2013 by Ellacoquine @ellacoquine

wild women do.
What's a proper engagement without a bachelorette party? Or in the case of this post's title, a Pretty Woman reference? Getting together for a ladies lunch of wine, nibbles, and playful gossip (thanks to this lunch, I totally learned that Kim Kardashian sent the Royal Family baby clothes and they sent them back to her! So juicy.) was the perfect way to kick off the first warm weekend of the year.
After top secret Facebook communication between Kale Project Kristen and my fiancé (who starting now will be addressed by his real name) Aurélien, and a group e-mail sent out by Finding Noon's Sylvia that included a request to wear mariniere tops, a Paris bloggers bachelorette "boozy lunch" was established. Mama Shelter in the 20th, a chichi boutique hotel with a hip restaurant on its first floor served as the perfect venue for the occasion, with its Parisian chic by way of Manhattan décor and family-style portions.
Per the website of Mama Shelter, I was instructed to get off at the Porte de Bagnolet metro stop, which seemed right because the hotel is on rue de Bagnolet. Only in theory did this makes sense because nowhere on Google maps, Hopstop or their website were there directions to cut through a gas station (and in this particular instance, with a senior citizen couple) in order to get to rue de Bagnolet. When the couple asked me where I was going, I knew a name like Mama Shelter especially when narrated with a French accent wasn't going to provide any further help. As predicted, they immediately denied the existence of the hotel that was allegedly in the neighborhood they had lived in for over 30 years, and wished me bon courage. While it was appreciated, I like to save my bon courages for events a little more serious than directions. In my experience, especially here in Paris, a location will eventually present itself, so I put their well wishes in my back pocket to use at a later date.
By simply following the street numbers, I arrived at a rather large, pale stone hotel that seemed almost difficult to bypass without noticing, especially with the smell of their signature wood-oven burning pizza wafting out on to the street. 
wild women do.
Arriving at our marble top round table, I was greeted by Paris Pictours Lindsey, Out and About in Paris Mary-Kay, and Finding Noon's Sylvia who gave me some top-notch advice on becoming a French wife. As guests trickled in (apparently it wasn't just me who had trouble finding the place), it was like a game of guess who's coming to dinner. I had had an idea of who might be coming, but wasn't exactly sure. Daisy de Plume of THATLou, followed by Emily from Emily in Exile, Paris Cheapskate's Jenna, and Kale Project Kristen finished off this fantastic line-up of my favorite ladies in Paris who were all wearing mariniere tops. An awesome theme if you ask me.
wild women do.
Within moments, we found ourselves giddy with giggles as we entertained each other with disturbing anatomically correct penis straws. These detailed little fun pops came in hot pink, purple, as well as assortment of peach and chocolate flesh tones, for those who want to imagine the real thing. Apparently things like dick straws (and I wonder why Google claims my blog has too much adult content) are difficult to find here in Paris, so one of the bloggers sent their own kin who is in the States on a special mission to purchase these multicolored balls on a stick. Who was this sassy blogger? That's my secret I'll never tell. xoxo. wild women do. Lunch was an array of salads, pizzas and of course, rosé. Our sever, who took a while to warm up to us, dropped his cool facade once he realized what he really dealing with: A group of fun American girls dressed like "French people" in striped tops, adorning plastic mustache props, a red beret thrown in for good measure, all speaking really loud. A table of women chain-smoking electric cigarettes made sure to give what appeared to be disapproving glances, but imagining from their perspective, I could understand why we had attracted their attention. Think about it: what if you were in the States and saw a table of French girls all wearing cowboy hats and fringed vests, holding like plastic buffalo wing props while hearing them talk about bites? I would certainly be entertained.
Lunch lingered into early evening, ending with a small photo shoot out on the terrace. In a rose hazé, the popular belief was that it would be an awesome idea to have everyone hold me, while I held Lindsey's dog Oliver (who was also in a beret and stripped top). Being held by the ladies who didn't coordinate a plan to lower me down resulted in a loud thud - the sound of me being dropped me on the floor with a dog in my hands. Lesson of the evening: Never make decisions regarding any kind of levitation after two glasses of wine. Oliver was not impressed and padded off in a huff in his little outfit. Who was also unimpressed was an older woman on the terrace who looked beyond horrified by the very core of our existence. But really, what's a bachelorette party without making some kind of a ruckus?
I had an absolute blast, and now understand the magic that is a bachelorette party without having to go to a strip club. It was the perfect way to kick off the countdown of my vast approaching wedding with a group of talented, opinionated and genuinely kind people who did nothing short of making me feel special.   
Thank you all for a fabulous afternoon!

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