A lifetime ago (okay, eight years ago), I was a senior in college, living in France, and finishing up my international business degree. I was blessed to already know a couple of French people at the university I was attending (they had done semesters abroad at my MN college the year before and I had befriended them there), so when I moved to Rennes, they immediately invited me into their fold…including their wine filled BBQs, their late night dance parties at the discothèques, and their barefoot pickup soccer games on the beach. It was awesome.
Ludo was one of their good friends, and he was the first French man who really liked me. I was 22 years old, and having a French man whisper into your ear, “je voudrais faire l’amour avec toi” was… well, a little slice of surreal heaven, especially to a Moulin Rouge fan like me.
Sadly(?), I really didn’t like him like that, so nothing ever came of that particular profession of desire, but I will never forget that night. Hanging out at his flat, drinking wine, and listening to Damien Rice’s new CD…including “The Blowers Daughter.”
Here we are, eight years later, and I thought of that song title while my daughter was working so hard to blow bubbles that her adorable little face turned red and her shirt became a river of spit.
What a life I have lived.