Life with Confetti

Photo Cred: Catherine Ledoux Photography

After three hours of work on my mane, I left my hairdresser’s chair with refreshed blond lengths and the delightful luscious waves that made my hair feel so much lighter. Too bad that for the moment, I still had to layer on my enormous fuchsia and feather filled winter coat along with a blanket scarf, gloves and damn, the pompom hat. I really did not want to squash my new hairdo, perhaps the coat hood would do the trick. In any case, better to ruffle the fresh hair than let the wind have its way with it. Why, with a minus 20 weather, Montreal’s wind factor is like a giant cool air blowing hair dryer.

As I walk in step with the crowd, I rummage through my purse and find my lifeline, my good old earphones. Yes, the ones with the wires. While highly tech savvy, I cannot be bothered to use yet another item that required charging. Besides, music is an essential part of my day and there is no way I am even chancing it with pods that I will most likely lose given my tragus ear piercing. Strutting to my own playlist (because I am also done paying monthly fees for music I downloaded years ago on Napster – new music? I have my ways…) I texted Leo, my husband:

“On my way, jumping in the metro! Check out wines for me? I’m craving a tartar! Is the kitchen still open at this hour?”

8:22PM was not so late, but, post-pandemic? One never knows. 

“Got it! And yes the kitchen is open. We are still smoking cigars upstairs, text me when you arrive and we’ll come meet you.”
“Perfect!” 

 Ravenous, I was so excited at the thought of a dinner Chez Alexandre. I had not been in that 70s retro bistro in years, in fact, not since I moved from the city. Three metro stations later, I’m outside walking on Peel street, with the hood of my coat locked on tight and I text again:
“Here!”
I let myself in Chez Alexandre and like a warrior taking off a worn out armor, I untie, unzip and remove ALL of my winter gear and feel the warmth of the place envelop me. Just then, a handsome looking Leo appears at the bottom of the staircase smelling of cigar.
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“Hey Fetti! So we aren’t exactly finished our cigars yet, you can come join us but I doubt you’ll want your hair to smell?” he says genuinely concerned for my hair.
“No way! I’m starving anyway so I’ll order. Come down whenever you two are done.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not in the slightest!” I said smiling and gesturing him to go on. If there is one thing I, Confetti, am not shy to bask in, it is definitely alone time. Even if that means sitting by myself in a restaurant with no laptop and no book to hide behind. I’ll just sit there, be and fight every urge to look at my phone.
“Awesome, oh and you’ll love the Pinot best, with your tartare, that is. Enjoy!”  

Another fantastic ingredient to the evening: my husband knowing exactly my wine tastes, more so than I do.

With that, the young and tall waitress leads me to the front section facing the street. Most of the tables are empty and I choose the corner table, of course! It’s the best seat in the house with its prime view on the entire place. Only problem was, it was great for people watching and bad for comfort. Given it was one of the coldest days of the year as of yet in 2024. Which meant I was feeling the cold through the windows while bursts of hot air coming from the heater competed fiercely to keep the area warm. Admittedly, the cold won. My feet and bum remain cool.

The waitress lights the small candle on the table which instantly sets a cozy micro atmosphere at my table and I busy myself piling all my winter apparel on a little bench, which seemed to be made for just that, next to me.
“would you like something to drink to start?”
“I’ll have the Pinot by the glass please, thank you.”
“Perfect, I’ll be right back.”
To the exception of a large table with six youngster to my immediate right and another couple of women a few tables away, the restaurant was definitely not full, especially for a Friday night. Another reminder that the world was not as it used to be pre-pandemic.
The waitress returned and placed the glass of Pinot noir on a small square napkin.
“Would you like to see the menu or is the tartar still your preferred choice?”
“I’ll have the tartare please, medium spicy.”
“Excellent, it comes with fries, did you wish to-"
“Perfect!”

We both smiled at each other and the waitress took off with my order. With one swig of wine, I let go of the day’s speedy rhythm and settled in with my brewing mind. I watch cars slowy drive by through the semi-blurry window and it reminds me of those paintings I once saw in an old Montreal art gallery on St-Paul. I disconnect with my day and let nostalgia wash over me. A bad habit of mine or more like, a lifestyle really. I remembered when Friday nights were exactly like this, only I had one or two friends sitting by me.

When was the last time I enjoyed an evening like this?
Why, just the other night actually!

That is the beauty of having a fulfilling career, being happily married and childfree, too. I thought of old friends, especially the ones I hung out with when I lived in the city. Do they wonder what I am up to sometimes or is it just me reminiscing all my by lonesome? Do friends who do not see each other the way they used to, still laugh, albeit separately, about silly insides jokes the same way I do or are their lives so far gone from the one we knew that those memories are irretrievable or worse, irrelevant? Probably the latter. 

No matter the case, I Confetti, love my life. I look around me and felt a reassuring sensation from the gentle hum of ongoing conversations from strangers. This fills my soul and my brain starts firing so many great ideas; I open the side pocket of my purse and take out my small notepad, pen, and start jotting down my thoughts. It has become a habit of mine to carry pen and paper as public places nourish my percolating mind. I write and feel an impenetrable bubble starting to form around me like an aura.
I had been writing for some time when I feel a presence standing near, my husband Leo and our friend Gian were back from their cigar smoking. They were looking at me hesitantly not to burst my concentration.
“Oh hey guys! Gian, nice to see you.”
“Confetti, how are you?” Gian and I exchange a hug. “What are you doing? Writing?”
I nod, Leo smiles unsurprised as we all take our seats in the semi-warm corner of the restaurant. We start chatting and as if the evening wasn't perfect enough, we are interrupted by good news:
 “Your tartare with fries miss?”
And the beautiful plate of food is placed in front of me.
“Would you like some ketchup or mayo for your fries?”
I shoot her one glance “both?” I smile and she gets it!

And that, dear readers, is life with Confetti.