Christian: Are you enjoying your manicure?
Cecily: I am still at work, so one could say it’s still in its ideation phase.
writer
Alexander, on flirtation via dogs.
Alexander: Small yet masculine dogs are an excellent conversation starter.
Two friends, on recourse.
Alexander: All male members of our race are DEAD TO ME.
Cecily: Your only recourse is to become a lesbian. Or a monk. Or both.
Alexander: I’ll be a lesbian insofar as I don’t have to see any tits.
Two friends, on weddings.
Cecily: Jonathan loves churches. If only we could have a non-denominational wedding in a Catholic cathedral. Or a mosque.
Alexander: Perhaps a nice, non-denominational meadow? I’m getting married in a whiskey library.
Two friends, on marriage on a cliff.
Alexander: Isn’t there something so much more romantic about getting hitched in a setting devoid of human touch — a place not shaped by anyone’s ideas and ideologies but your own? When you decide to let nature be your cathedral, your love becomes the architect.
Cecily: No! I want our relationship to be strong enough to blossom in reality — a reality shaped by previous architects and heavy expectations and other people’s disdain.
Two friends, on hearts.
Cecily: You are wonderfully intelligent and kind and generous and wicked.
Arnaud: Thank you. That warms my cold heart.
Cecily: Your heart is not cold. You are simply delusional.
Cecily, on work culture.
Cecily: In Paris, there is no such concept as “watercooler conversation”. It’s called a communal cigarette break. And it can happen up to thirty times a day. Note to self: spend salary on cigarettes, ergo, increase end of year bonus. Je fume, donc je suis.
Cecily, on relative poverty.
Cecily: When I was poor in Paris, I couldn’t afford a Vogue magazine to feed me like Carrie Bradshaw. Instead, I took Übers.
Christopher, on Oxford.
Christopher: I do not know the word to which you refer, however, I did go to Oxford.
Cecily, on a shoe.
Cecily: I threw one shoe off on the steps of the Sacre Cœur and left it there, a crazed contemporary Cinderella. I figured that by the time midnight hit, I’d have a prince and a roasted pumpkin in my oven and a quartet playing Corelli in my living room. I guess I didn’t read Grimm’s tale with enough scrutiny…
thedailymails 