Last night after I got home in fumes I joined my across-the-alley neighbors Antoine and Cécile for a drink. They're both about my age, the brother probably more exactly close but the sister doing. (N.B. Cécile the sister is not to be confused with Cécile the girlfriend. To make this even funner Cécile the sister used to date another guy named Antoine.)

Anyway, one of Cécile's school friends Émilie was over, I waved through a window on my way home and got waved in, and after my housemate Arnaud finished a phone call he joined us too. We were just chatting, they were breaking out the Petit Robert and giving me a breakdown of some current Parisian slang, when Antoine takes out an iron, ironing board, and shirt, and goes at it while the two other girls continue to decide whether you can ever say colocatrice to mean female housemate. For our future reference, (1) mostly people say the abbreviated coloc, and (2) nope, just un or une coloc(ateur).

After about ten minutes we noticed that Antoine was still ironing his shirt at the far end of the living room, and the rest of the evening was dedicated to giving him a really hard time about it.