International Soirée

You know you've been to a good party if your feet are sore from dancing. What kind of party is it if it's your shoes that suffered, and are covered in dried sticky booze and cracker pieces? I suppose it's just one that requires more cleanup. A few nights ago I scrubbed my feet to get rid of the the black stains from my shoes. Last night I spent about thirty minutes scrubbing the bottoms of those shoes that had seen the worst of the dance floor.

It might be a stretch to call the kitchen a dance hall, but the evening's festivities definitely constituted a party. Seven language assistants from four different countries threw a party in their collective kitchen, in an apartment building like a fat tiled obelisk attached to a high school of similarly bizarre architecture. They invited other assistants, teachers, au pairs, and acquaintances.

The girls made an interesting (rum?) punch, and stocked a bar/counter with various types of alcohol and juice, french cheese and crackers, and big cans of cheap beer. A Spanish assistant furnished the music, and the mix was all over the place. It was funny to see non-English speakers "singing" to The Beatles, Queen, Outkast, and other popular British/American music, but I know I did the same thing when I heard La Bamba, and other international hits.

The main language spoken was French, but the diversity of accents and physical statures was remarkable. I'm going to risk stereotyping, but a lot of the Germans were tall, the Spanish girls were short and dark haired, and the Americans were medium height with a spectrum of hair/skin types. There were a large number of French people there and assistants from all over Latin America. Almost everyone was drinking and spilling from their tiny cups, and by the end of the night we were sticking to floor. That didn't keep anyone from dancing.

The next morning, the clean-up required two intense moppings and the efforts of all the hosts to clean the rest of the mess up. Apparently someone threw toilet paper out of the top floors of the obelisk, essentially TP-ing La Tour ("the tower"). While the girls scrubbed the floor and picked up toilet paper and cups, most of their non-local guests remained passed out in the oddly angled corners of the building. I imagine that we all had clothes (and shoes!) to wash after such a soirée.