In Le Dîner, Bénabar turns a simple refusal to attend a friendly dinner into a hilarious cascade of excuses. The narrator’s shirt feels like a tight sausage, his mood is low, a diet is supposedly urgent, and—most enticing of all—a goofy Louis de Funès movie with aliens is on TV. Every line piles up a new pretext: sudden fatigue, imaginary illness, even a grand social critique hiding under the blankets with pizza. You can almost see him clutching the phone, inventing reasons while already dreaming of melted cheese and remote-control bliss.
Beyond the comedy, the song pokes at something universal: that lazy little voice begging us to ditch polite obligations for cozy comfort. Bénabar’s playful lyrics spotlight how quickly we trade “being sociable” for sweatpants, how creative we become when dodging responsibilities, and how love can be complicit in the sweetest small rebellions. It’s a lighthearted anthem for anyone who has ever chosen couch and carbs over formalities—delivered with a wink and a catchy melody.