Madamoizelle H–dancing in a French night club

“Il faut profiter en France!”–should have been the title to this blog, despite all the moments of confusion, ou bien, “YOLO,” which stands for  you only live once if you’re not familiar with this acronym. I have heard “Il faut profter!” so much in France, and unlike YOLO, which was painful to my ears from the first time that I heard it, it has been seemingly effective in getting me to do things that hesitancy and fear would have kept me from doing.

I went to a boite, the literal translation being box, but it’s real definition being night club, with some close friends who had an in, so to speak. It was a reservation only sort of thing, having to know the right people to get in. Not to inflate this story anymore than what is actually true, but from my point of view having never been to a night club before, damn, I felt like a high roller.

A bit disoriented at first from all the French and loud music, I set in our squarish seating area and sipped on a drink. As my head moved back and forth on auto-pilot trying to understand what this French night club was all about, a ray of light had descended upon the center of the stage where stood the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Like a horse with blinders or a dehydrated child with tunnel vision, I couldn’t see anything around but this woman at center stage.

She took the mic and began singing Adele’s Someone Like You. Although I had heard the song so many times before, had seen it being made fun of in so many different ways, I almost began crying, and I the last time I can of think of that I cried was when I was hit by a car 5 years ago. I decided after that that I wanted to dance with her.

Now, for some reason, no one danced, practically the whole night. I am not sure what everyone was so afraid of, but they’re had to have been over a hundred people in the night club and an average of 15 people dancing per hour. It was pretty disappointing, but all the same, I danced my ass off like it was a LDB banquet.

To the sides of the dance floor are two smaller stages, and there is a pole on each of the stages. Wonder what those are for? The singer got up on one of the stages and continued to sing (not using the pole, and by inserting the detail about the poles, it is not that I was hoping nor implying that she would dance on the pole, it was merely a detail, all sarcasm and dry humor aside).

“Il faut profiter en France!” a little voice told me in my head.

“Okay,” I thought. “Why not?”

I climbed the stairs and danced with her on stage, and I could say that it was the realization of something more than a dream, of something incomprehensible to the human mind, but, my friends, it was more. As great as tasting french fries has been, as seeing someone walking down the street wearing an actual beret, the normalcy of eating chocolate three times a day… that experience topped the list.

Other things worth noting from the night:

-I learned that you don’t smile for pictures when you’re in a boite. You just look at the camera knowing the camera is looking back at you, much like a staring contest.

That’s about it actually, and yes, profit from the experience!

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