Our apartment balcony faces a ruelle, a little street that’s pedestrian-only. It’s bordered by grass and trees, and mostly pleasant, except on the weekends when it becomes a pissoir for soused and screaming partyers (or, as the French so aptly say, les fêtards).
But TIL that ruelle has other definitions: the slot between the bed and the wall commonly used for cat storage
and also….I can’t believe I didn’t know this…the area around your opulent bed where guests and dignitaries hang out to visit while you just stay tucked in like the lazy, badass aristo you are.
So now I want a bigoll carved mahogany canopy bed with lots of pillows upon which to balance my towering hair and espresso set and bon-bon dish while I read the paper and half-listen to the Shantung-clad fops and arrivistes gathered in my ruelle pleading for my attention and favor
No, I did not fall asleep watching Bridgerton.