Crystal clear

The official maid of honor had us over at her apartment for cocktails. The evening was also supposed to include dinner but she ended up bailing on feeding us because she didn't have matching china. (Apparently, she hadn't heard of take-out which usually comes with matching plates, all be it of the paper variety.)

As we scrambled to figure out what to do for Do's bachelorette party, the best girlfriend of her future groom stepped up to the plate and batted it out of the field by making reservations for us at the Crystal Room. It was thus that we proceeded out of the apartment and caravanned over to another arrondissement for a memorable experience.

I assumed that the celebration of the interment of Dominique's life as a single woman would include a pole so I was slightly surprised when we ended up at a very chic restaurant. Sadly, my crisp Euro bills ended up staying in my wallet. The Crystal Room restaurant was located inside the Baccarat (duh, crystal) museum. The place was renovated by Philippe Stark who married 18th century French with contemporary serious chichi.


The Maitre D saw us arriving with our cameras and was mortified. He asked us not to take pictures in the restaurant (boo)... but he didn't say anything about the rest of the place. Ha!


This was the kind of dining experience where you were presented with four glasses and the same amount of forks, spoons and knives and the object of the game was to figure out which one to use, when. You could feel the eyes of the waiters behind us ready to catch us in a dining etiquette faux pas. I thought of Jack's table manners and decided to look into cotillion camp when I get back.

On the way home, Dominique mustered up all of her courage and asked everyone present to keep the microphone away from me at the wedding. Well that did it for me. I had never planned on saying anything (nor Anouk) because I was too miffed to have not been asked to be a bridesmaid, that I decided there and then to prepare a speech. No one on the Canadian side of the family was planning on speaking so I decided (with the blessing of Do's mom and sister) that I would do the deed.

Horror of horrors, the fear that set into Dominique's eyes should I recount some of the experiences we had shared in our lives, certainly played a minor role in the insomnia that set into her for the next two nights.

I have to admit that the pressure of coming up with something to say about my friend (who I have known since I was nine years old) without making it too mean, too revealing (to embarrass her or the groom) and funny and touching at the same time, but most importantly, short, did rob me of a couple of hours of shut-eye, as well.

Is-a-plotting