Tonight I went to a party with a sore throat and a bottle of water I pretended was vodka which I later used as an excuse to steal all of the provided orange juice as a “mixer”. My ex-boyfriend did not show up and I found myself oddly disappointed, as if I’ve been denied one last chance to push a loose tooth around with my tongue before finally pulling it out (again). I text my boyfriend to tell him this and immediately regret it. I have always been so delicate and gentle with people I date, except when it comes to feelings of mine that should be left unsaid. I love honesty to the point of destruction. People ask me what’s in my bottle and I hesitate for two seconds too long before finally giving in and saying “it’s just water”. A very drunk french boy in a red polo tells me that I am the leader of the next generation, and that the USA needs me for my commitment to feminism. Girls like me are not as rare in France as they are in the USA, he says. The two girls that came to meet him here stand three feet away and comment in thick accents just loud enough for me to hear. ”This is so cliche.” ”You can tell that she likes it.” “She’s pretending to be unimpressed because she knows we’re watching.” So I guess French feminism is a little different than mine.