OMGMJ.

Some evenings are just downright entertaining.

MrIkea was all "so, you want to see a movie tonight" and I was all "yes please yes please" and so we headed to the cinemas. There were some hip kids out on the town, most of them keen to catch some Frenchy goodness from Audrey Tautou, some of them more prepared than we were for the film and learned enough in the French language to know that 'avant' means 'before'. I'll google French fundamentals before I movie-go again.
The gentlemen to my left were giggly. Somewhere through the film they dropped something loudly and this made them giggle more. The laughing happened so much that it was soon followed by snorting, making me laugh along with them. Probably not really welcome, but hey, laughing's my 'thing' (so much so that I apparently do it in my sleep now).
The ladies down the front were middle aged and respectable. Until the sex scene when there was some raucous laughter coming from their direction, and loud chattering in French. I was mostly jealous then, as they were clearly fluent in the language and didn't have to waste any time reading subtitles like us other common folk.

Later in the night at a cafe, the waitress approached the group who had just fixed their bill. Holding out the tray with coins on them, she asked most politely "Would you like your tips?"
Realising her error, she tried to correct herself "would you like your money? er, your change?"
The group let her have the shrapnel. Probably more from awkwardness than generosity.
I was semi-recognised on the street, with a man walking towards me, saying hello, then turning off with a "i don't actually know you.." before he continued walking.
A Michael Jackson film clip marathon was playing, much to my delight, in the ice cream store, and as I pondered the appropriateness of dancing to Thriller on the tiles I must have indicated a few moves. The fellow in front looked delighted, and told me he would dance it out with me if I did it.
I still declined. Zombies never really look appealing, and rarely does a Cold Rock floor look like a dance floor. I think the fellow was genuinely saddened, throwing furtive glances in my direction as each song progressed, hoping that I may give him an excuse to moonwalk in a public place. Poor guy.