The Parisians like to party.
Night number two and club number two in Paris went something like this: we tried to get into Club Rex which is supposedly very famous and popular, but our moms kind of ruined the party. Though this rule certainly does not apply to other clubs in the city, (not the other one we went to, anyway) no *old people* allowed in Club Rex! (Alright mom you’re not that old, sorry.) After hanging out at a wine bar to entertain them, we convinced the moms to let us go to the club next door, “Café Oz” (café?). Ok, they said, on one condition. We will wait at the (actual) café across the street, so don’t go back to the hotel without us. Fair enough. There was an insanely long line to get in but we passed the time conversing with some German dudes. By the time we got in it was packed packed packed and blasting with American pop/dance music. I remember hearing Icona Pop. I guess that’s British. BOMBES JAGER! (Yes please)
After about ninety minutes passed, we were dancing with our German friends and ignoring texts from our mothers, which ranged from “Please be careful - watch over dev and jack [the 16 yr olds]. do NOT drink so you can focus” to “OMG their first club experience, in Paris!! Something they will never forget!” Oh, moms. So fickle. I guess I missed the part where they wanted us to come outside, and it’s a good thing German boy #1 didn’t make any moves because around 3am I heard a familiar voice behind me, shouting my name. The color must have drained from my face. Pushing through the crowds of grinding French teens on the dance floor were my mom and aunt, inside the club, coming to get us.
Lesson learned: Keep an eye on your mom. If she’s in the same city as you, don’t let her know where you are.
What’s YOUR most embarrassing mom-in-the-club story? Don’t have one?
tryna-catch-her-eye said: I looked a while back because I wondered why the English had bad teeth. Dental care is free!
Aw not all of them doe =D