Location: Local park Time: Lunch time Closed / Tagged: @rupcrt
sandrine’s eyes were glued to her phone as she scanned through the wikipedia page for pinot noir once again. research, she did a lot of it in the past week. she knew nothing about wine, and could quite frankly not even remember the last time she had a sip of overpriced fermented grape juice. but for her friend, she would do anything. even if it meant to harrass the poor employees of the liquor store, save dozens of screenshot of informations about wine and spending more money on a beverage she would mostly likely not like than she usually would on her entire nighttime routine. the good side of it all was that she understood the french words and spent a fair amount of time trying to instruct the employees about not butchering the word noir. she finally found a good bottle, although all bottles looked like good bottles to her, which was described as classic, refined and perfumed. she truly hoped she was one swipe of credit card away from making her dear friend happy.
the brunette squinted when a shadow appeared before her. she smiled ever so widely when she turned around and recognized him. it was a good thing she already sat down on the blanket, fighting the urge to hug rupert was easier than usual. “hi, roo! i’m so excited for our picnic date!” she squealed of excitement.
picnic. the last time she attended a picnic it was with her family when she was probably ten years-old. she associated them with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, extremely sugary juice boxes and hours of pep-talk from her brother because she was too scared to go down the slides alone. that was not fancy, and rupert deserved fancy. she attempted making some of those whipped cream and fruit japanese sandwiches which came out decent. she added a bunch of cheese and crackers into a basket she ordered online since the moment she came back from from their previous encounter and she seemed good to go. she then remembered that picnics could also be very romantic and picturesque and, finally, she found her inspiration. “this is nowhere near the painting called...” she cleared her throat as she spoke in the most sophisticated accent, somewhere between a commentator of figure skating and marie-antoinette. “un dimanche après-midi à l’île de la grande jatte, but welcome to sunday in the park with moi.” alessandra added jazzy hands and an adorable wave of laughter.
