Earthly Delights

When I was doing my undergrad study abroad program in France, we were encouraged to take classes within the Parisian university system. This was at first thrilling (real classes! with real French people!), then terrifying (I once snapped out of a daydream when I heard the professor say, "Well, let's ask the American. Are they?" I said, "Excuse me?" He elaborated, "Are executions public in the United States?"), then, oddly, a sign of just how much we were being coddled (our French grades were translated, and by that I mean inflated, into their American equivalents).

Funny how the same facial expression can convey excitement, horrified amusement and disbelief at how determined private colleges are to give everyone A's.


One of the classes focused entirely on Balzac's Une femme de trente ans. Even though I'd never heard of it, I figured it must be really important to the history of literature, like those courses that spend the whole semester slogging through Ulysses. Spoiler alert: it's not. It's not even important to Balzac's œuvre. I have never heard anyone mention it since that class. There were two other American students in the class, Maggie and Josh, who were hilarious and personable, and we even hung out together outside of class.

(The dirty little secret of living abroad is that making friends with natives is way hard, but making friends with other English-speakers is a snap. Sssh.)

The professor of the course announced that there would be an exam, and we Americans could take it if we wanted to, but we didn't have to (see what I mean about coddling?). Bizarrely confident in our abilities, all three of us were determined to see it through. On test day, we watched in shock tinged with horror as the French students filed in with their pencil cases and Claire Fontaine looseleaf. It hadn't occurred to any of us that we would need to bring our own paper. A well-prepared French student passed me a few sheets. The professor began to speak. "Page 136, second and third paragraphs," he said. "Explication de texte." Um. Who shot who in the what now?

Nightmarish. After a minute of two of panicky silence (or just regular test-taking silence for the kids who had been churning out explications de texte since puberty), Maggie got up and walked out. Josh and I shamefacedly skulked after her. It was embarrassing, but completely liberating.

After the semester was over, Maggie worked for my slightly batty host mother, sending me hilarious letters describing the household's bizarre tableaux. We sort of sporadically stayed in touch, in those pre-Facebook days when it actually took an effort.

And then one day, out of the blue, I got a package from her with Earthly Delights inside.

It's just a cute little frock with no labels or anything; it's like it just appeared under a toadstool.


To be honest, I don't know if I would have bought Earthly Delights for myself; the fabric is worn and faded. But it is sturdily made, and the print is sweetly Bosch-esque.

I wear it more in winter, with heavy tights and a sweater, than in summer, but it works splendidly either way. And it reminds me that you always have a choice to walk away, if you're willing to face the consequences of that choice. Thanks, Maggie!




P.S. There were no consequences to walking away from the exam; I got an A in the course. 





All photos by Claire Loeb!