Paul's friend had an interview at our company for a summer internship so I suggested that we all go out for lunch afterward. As we were talking, I brought up my colleague who jokingly asks me whether I've been trying to persuade my boss to take me to Cannes.

Just as I mentioned his name, he turns around and says hi. I was super red-face and spilled that I've been trying to locate valid excuses to accompany him to Cannes, but so far, I've come up short. Zip, zero, zilch.

He said I wasn't useless and might consider it next year. Which was, of course, his way of deflecting the awkwardness.

So back at the office, I had to organize a fancy dinner in Antibes and called the restaurant to make a reservation. As I was chatting away en francais (and flirting with the Maitre d', bien sur!), my boss passed by and did a double take, having never heard me speak French before.

His reaction got me thinking ...

Maybe I can make my case by telling him how many great places he's been missing out on simply because he doesn't speak la belle langue. "You don't have to be hanging by the boardwalk," I'd plead, "when you can take the road less traveled. And a man of your stature ... well, excuse my brazenness, but the bragging rights alone would pay for themselves." Then again, he also has some of the best connections at the festival so he has no trouble gaining entry into glamorous yachts and studio parties ... all the while, I sit and watch my life flicker away across the ocean. But what do those smarmy publicists know about finding greasy chow mein and veggie dogs at 3AM Central European Time?! Um, winning!

Le sigh. All that potential ass-kissing just for some free movie passes and overpriced quiche? I'd still do it.