"Oh look who one of the speakers is tonight," said B, reading the programme. "Your old boyfriend 'R'." I thought he was kidding, but he wasn't. We were in Montreal for Concordia's 'Homecoming' last evening and yep, there was 'R', one of the big-cheese speakers.
I rose from the table and walked all over the room trying to find him. Couldn't. "I know him," said a woman at our table, "I'll go get him." She did and over he came with his wife. I would never have recognized him in a hundred years. Giving me the once-over, he probably thought the same. It was a weird and awkward moment. The band struck up and we headed for the dance floor. I have to admit, it was kind'a cool, dancing with a man who was once your serious beau.
In fact, the whole weekend was very cool. Montreal is still Montreal. Steak tartare is everywhere on every menu and I indulged. Absolutely love the stuff. And "Montreal frites" are still "Montreal frites". The best. Although fluent, I refused to speak a word of French the whole time, thanks to that idiot Marois and her "cultural manifesto".
Looking down in the water, as I swam, I wondered what the view was? It looked like the entrance to the hotel and I finally figured out that that's exactly what it was. The bottom of the pool was a glass window, so I could see people coming and going, taxis and cars and doormen doing their thing. I guess, had they looked up, they would have seen me swimming back and forth. It was so "seventies". Problem was the pool was extremely hot, but I did my laps.
We had a whirlwind visit, but I am so glad to be home.
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