Fait Do-Do

Near the end of Caché Daniel Auteil’s character removed his dressing gown and, all paunchy grizzle, slid naked into bed. “Oh, the French” said Rich, yet again. I’m French but I’ll never understand the appeal of sleeping without pajamas. What if you have to pee during the night? Do you then get up, and like a shivering shaved rat scurry over to the can? And unless you want your bed to smell like bears have been hibernating there, you’d have to do laundry every other day. Forget it. I want a layer of fresh flannel between me and life’s indignities.

Lainie and I both had a crush on this gorgeous boy. An Italian grad student named Mike. He had to do some research at U of T and since I lived in Toronto he asked if he could stay with me. It was with great relish I told her about the wine he brought me, our spaghetti dinner and of course, the Über-sexy fact that he slept in a pair of worn-out jeans. Nothing happened. Being engaged to Rich I could delude myself into thinking that it was only gentlemanly propriety that kept him from declaring his undying denim love.