American in Sight

So the other day I had a meeting with the Europair Agency and, to my delight, they are “trés chique!” The place is run by young, mid-to-late-twenties women who are totally all about supporting the cause of the romantic-notioned au pairs. They didn’t even require that I pay them their 50euro fee which is asked on the side of the au pair. I love them. It is great to have their support.

            The best part of going to the au pair agency is that I met my new best friend. I say she is my new best friend because she is my only friend (aside from members of my au pair family). Originally when I first met her, I somewhat brushed her off—I had an appointment to attend to. The hermit in me is very stubborn—the hermit doesn’t want or need friends. After I was done with my agency interview though, she caught up with me. I’m glad she did. She asked me if I had any questions. That’s when I remembered I hadn’t a clue what to do with my weekend.

 “What are you doing this weekend?” It blurted from my mouth.

I’m so glad it did. We ended up getting drinks. (When I say drinks, I mean she got a coffee and I had hot chocolate. From now on, you will assume that I am drinking hot chocolate. Or perhaps eating it. It is my drug of choice.)

Her name is Ashley.  She is a New Yorker, originally from the Orlando suburbs, and she is grossly in love with Paris. We talked for an hour and she gave me tons of excellent advice, and related some deliciously horrible au pair horror stories that had already happened to her and some of the other au pairs, especially another American by the name of Lindsey (I think I will meet her soon). Something along the lines of au pair slavery, to keep it short.

It was such a relief to be able to sit down with a friend and just talk. More than talk—connect. Ashley is a kindred spirit; someone who was also drawn by the romantic idea of Paris, even more than I was. As she gushed about the awe of Paris, she inspired me to try to soak up the joys about me. I think what really helped the most was having a friend. For once, not being alone. Suddenly sitting together at a charming café, talking with ease, the city was transformed. It was a gorgeous day (two in a row!). The place was buzzing with the eve of the weekend. There seemed to be too many fun things to do.

This past week I have been a solitary, stubborn little hermit. Aside from those of you I have called, I talk to no one. It is scrumptiously satisfying. The hermit relishes it. So much time to one’s self! Schedules can be completed with exactness! No one is depending on you. No one even knows about you. Delicious. However, no matter how much I enjoy living, aside from this blog, a very secretive life, I know I must give up the hermit soon. Though I don’t care to, I understand it is healthy—necessary—to make friends.  I will soon relinquish the hermit’s hold and attempt to reach out to potential friends. I will soon make friends, make friends, and hang out with them (that’s what you do with friends, right? I can’t remember.)