vive la difference

she says can you pass
me another vol-au-vent
sil vous plait.
I say what.
you mean the canapés,
no, she says, pointing
at the small dish
of puffed pastries filled
with meat.
those, she says,
her delicate finger
bent in their direction.
so I do.
merci, she says.
more champagne, I ask.
certainment, she says.
oui.
I put down my Budweiser
and leg of chicken
and pour
the bubbly into her
flute.
she smiles, she winks.
she puckers her lips and blows
me a kiss.