Last night, I met my first two French boys. The first one was a complete arse, who looked upon Americans as inferior beings with big mouths and a small understanding of the ways of the world. When I asked him politely if he could get me a water, since I was getting overheated and dizzy from all the.. boissons.. he said he “was not my boy” and shrugged me off in contempt. His friend, however, who had previously offered to get me and my friend whatever we wanted, was more than willing to run over to the bar and pick me up a water, which I kindly thanked him for and kissed him on the cheek. It was only minutes later that the guys left the bar because Frenchie #1 was too despondent to remain, and then we met our second prey of the night.
Numero Deux was extremely cute- short blonde hair, blue eyes, a little bit of stubble- and spoke enough english so that whenever I couldn’t remember a word in French, he was able to assist me in translating. We exchanged numbers by the end of the night, and I do hope I see him again. He promised to help me with my French, and in return I will assist him with his English and hopefully some other things… Overall, he was a great guy. He’s an engineering student in Paris, and last night was his birthday, which he was nonchalantly celebrating with a friend. I liked that about him. He also loved America, seemingly more than France. That made him enticed by me all the more, which surely worked in my favor. I want to cook him a french dinner one night- aperitifs and all- and we’ll see where it goes from there with him, hoping that he wasn’t just giving me his number out of drunken horniness. If so, there are plenty of poissons francais in the sea.
I hope everyone is well, in whichever time zone they’re in. It’s 1:24 P.M. here.. in case you were wondering. I’m off to the exhibit at the Luxembourg Gardens, which closes tomorrow!