And what God-awful creatures could have turned me so against this species you may ask? Well, I give you my terrible 3 personally experienced examples of zese 'Casanovas' who will explain for themselves just why I am now a firm preacher of the motto "3 strikes and you're out".
Case number 1
French man X- The Cheater
The French Cheater acts swiftly and with precision. He will make a beeline for his prey, seeming confident, bold. He will adversely dance like a gorilla in a strange, far out way that you kind of dig. You will dance and talk and... get on like a house on fire. He's cute and funny and eventually, he'll ask you to go back with him. You'll say no but he's a try-er.
"I guess we won't see each other again after tonight."
"Oh yeah, why's that?"
"Because I don't really go to clubs that often."
"Well, you know, that's not the only thing I like to do. For instance, I like coffee...." (I am so sassy in France).
"We can go have coffee tomorrow morning."
"Oh yeah, on a Sunday? Nothing will be open."
"Yeah, we can have coffee tomorrow morning after you come back with me tonight."
"Oh yeah, on a Sunday? Nothing will be open."
"Yeah, we can have coffee tomorrow morning after you come back with me tonight."
Ah. Touché you witty, witty man. But still, no thank-you. And so he will not ask for your number because you do not agree to coffee in bed, and yet you still hope that you will secretly bump into the guy in the streets one day and it will be like a fairytale movie scene because, treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen and all that.
And then there will come a day when you check the snowy pictures on the University's Facebook page and you will see THE GUY in the picture. Alas! You have found him. As beautiful as ever.
And BAM
The Cheater has a girlfriend.
Case Number 2
French Man Y- The Coward
The French Coward is not so much a boy as the other, he has a real job. In fact, he is a teacher. Dresses smart and reminds you a little of the class of an Englishman. He's shy, seemingly harmless, and loves the mountains, just like you hey?! The downside: your paths don't cross that much.
You realise you know a grand total of 2 young French people well, besides the fact that you are living in France. This guy seems normal and approachable, so you're going to go for it. With the goal of friendship in mind (really, for now... really!) you put a note in his pigeon hole at work, saying if he ever wanted to meet up 1 day to do something, then you'd really appreciate meeting some more people here. Here's my number, call me maybe....?
And nothing. And you know he has received your note because IT IS NOT IN THE PIGEON HOLE ANYMORE. 2 weeks have gone by now.
Case Number 3
French man Z- The leader on-er
You go to a bar to watch a bizarrely formed group of middle-aged men play some live French music. You are dancing, grooving to the music. And suddenly, you catch sight of the most beautiful rugged man perched at the back of the room, and he looks at you too. You play a bit of eye footsy before the band's set comes to a close. You and Lydia decide to sit down at a spare table and finish your drinks, and who should come and sit down at the table and ask to join you, but Mr Beautiful with the unshaven beard.
You'll get chatting. He's sociable and interesting and, did I mention beeeautiful? An architecture student too, arty. They're going to a 'party' after and would we like to join? (party comprised of 5 moody men) You go because you don't want to say bye to him yet- and you don't know many French people (as noted above). You have to be at work at 8am the next morning but "How often do these things happen to us?" says Lydia.
So you go. And you talk some more. But it transpires that this amazing man is leaving tomorrow because he's from Switzerland and his internship is over. He'll be back in about a week though. As you go to leave at 1.30 he asks you for your number, so you give it to him. And he suggests that maybe we could go for a coffee in the morning before he goes. This sounds quite nice to you so you accept, but you can only do between 9 and 11 am.
"That's fine" he says.
You leave, doing a little happy dance with Lydia outside. And he rings you so you have his number, texts to check we're still on for 9am and where will we be meeting. And then you go to sleep.
You go to your 8am class, and soon enough 9 am comes along. You go out in front of the school to meet him but he's not there yet. So you go to the bank whilst you're waiting- maybe he's found it difficult to get up so early. You don't want your students to see you waiting like a loser for some guy. You go back and still no sign, so you call your mum because she'll know what to do: give him a little call to see if it wakes him up (if that is the case). And so you call once and he does not respond and so you go back into work and work on your dissertation, and you never do hear from the guy who went to so much effort to build you up without ever having the intention of seeing you again.
...
Perhaps my future man will be an Italian, or a Finnish man, or Chinese. Any nationality where I can't understand the brush off will work just fine for me. All I know is, he will not be French.
And yet, Mr and Mrs Carrot (the real surnames of the lovely market sellers that call me Little Red Riding Hood) have a lovely, KIND-looking son. "Jamais deux sans trois" as the French say. And if there's never 2 bad things without a 3rd, maybe I've had my fill of horrible French men. Is there a rule for the 4th 1 you encounter?
Perhaps I may not rule each and every single 1 of them out after all...
Until next week's issue of French 'amour' disasters!
Gros bisous (because I can still find love in my heart for you all)
Grenoble Girl
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