Damn the French! All they seem to want to do is sing and dance, eat plenty of delicious food and drink until the sun comes home. Which is exactly what we all did this past Wednesday night at our preferred la Bagatelle on west 13th st. And if you don’t believe me you should have seen the kids laughing at me this morning when I got out of the gutter. Such a delicious hangover…blah!
It start’s like this, the music, all the cute Frenchies and all their friends dancing on tables and spilling their drink all over me. Never mind, they’re just French I just tell myself, they don’t know any better. For a while I am standing there, quietly observing the mayhem, faintly smiling, not too much mind you, I don’t want anyone to know I am enjoying this more than I ought to. Then some character with one of them striped blue and red white shirts asks me if I’m Guiseppe?
“Guiseppe. No dear. I believe you have me mistaken for someone else.”
He pauses. Drinks more of that rose that they are swilling on all them damn tables before finally retorting:
“Well, I’m just a frustrated gay in a room full of French people.”
