Heard that one about the lesbians and the removal van? (I'm
sticking to my guns on this particular Anglicism - am I the only
one with no clue what a British U-Haul equivalent might be?) The
self-perpetuating myth that lesbian couples become immediately
joined at the hip, in my personal experience, just happens to be
true.
Apparently, according to psychologists, this particular joke
'epitomizes the perceived phenomenon of homosexual women to create
intense emotional connections almost instantaneously'. In other
words, you've found someone who has all the trimmings and the urge
to merge takes control.
Spoken aloud, all this U-Haul business would be translated as:
'THANK FUCK I'VE FOUND SOMEBODY NICE!'
Yet despite the obvious advantages offered by instant Borg-like
assimilation (the sharing of household related tasks, the division
of rent and having someone else's socks at your disposal to steal
when faced with the annoying situation of having a loner at the
bottom of your drawer), there are multiple possible pitfalls that
await down the road of said U-Haul van...
Like, when it all goes horriblement wrong.
Ah yes, who and what do you merge with when it's all over? It's
all very well being one and the same, what with all the lovey-dovey
sentence completion and misguided wardrobe co-ordination. But how
to fill the gaping abyss such a symbiotic relationship leaves torn
open in its wake?
Answer: a) get a dog, b) steal someone else's dog, or c) make
damn sure you get sole ownership of the dog that was yours and your
partner's.
Whilst tempted by option B, option C appeared, over time, to be
the more logical choice. Which is why I have officially merged with
my miniature pinscher Vesta. As girls go, she's got it all!
Infinitely affectionate, uninhibited around the house, all the
while rocking the fabbest coat of hair.
Paris is, at the same time, both an excellent and complicated
city in which to live contentedly (and above all, without
discrimination) with one's new canine partner.
If a romantic promenade with your beloved tempts you, Le Parc
des Buttes Chaumont, in the city's northern 19th arrondissement, is
the place to be. Up for grabs: greenery, hidden waterfalls and
cavernous corners in which to enjoy the odd stolen moment... But
the best thing about the park is, without a doubt, its famous Rosa
Bonheur bar and café. Run by the ex-proprietors of Paris's
legendary lesbian nightclub Le Pulpe(sadly closed but as notorious
as the Candy Bar), this quaint park-café becomes a hubbub of
lesbian lusciousness every Sunday afternoon, until midnight on the
dot. It's chic, relaxing and offers the most awesome views over
Paris this side of the Trifle Tower.
Dogs are allowed.
rosabonheur.fr
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