Advice for dating a frenchman
I consistently asked people what they did, and when they listed off hobbies or passions, as opposed to professions, I pressed for details. For a while, I tried to steer clear of asking people what they did for work. just as much as I loved the taco truck guy on the corner of East 2 Avenue who had my order ready the second I walked in every morning.
I forced myself to sit at the dinner table for hours, even if there was no one to talk to anymore, and I stopped telling the pizza delivery guy that I loved him. As New Yorkers, we try to be more international in our behavior.
We'll ask each other how much we pay in rent without the slightest hesitation, but dare to ask such a question of a Parisian and you're deemed rude and nosey, or simply very "American." to watch.
Or maybe if we make it through dessert in record time, we can get to the bar before last call.
Before I could escape, he planted a very wet and very "French" kiss on me, as I struggled to get away. Papa, tell her."Here was a 17-year-old telling me the ways of love and sex, in front of her father, no less.
I began to apologize profusely to Madeleine."Prude," she said, laughing at me. When you love someone, you kiss them no matter where you are. Even now, as I'm about to be on the other side of 35, I can't talk that way in front of my own father.
I simply loved him the way one loves pizza or a Jimmy Stewart movie.
And, perhaps, we're just not supposed to—the world needs brash, overworked, rent-obsessed, "love"-slinging New Yorkers just as much as it needs Parisians who will never understand these things about us.
Without it, we'd probably be too similar, and charm ceases to exist when we're all the same.
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