The First Bookend: Parisian Date

Apologies for the belatedness, it became one of those things that I kept putting off because it had been so long and I had so much to catch up on that I didn’t want to face it. Thus, here I am, now with much to relate, so I might split it up. The first part will consist of Parisian outings bookending European traveling, and the second will hope to include the rest since those events. As usual, the French men appropriately infiltrate my blog entries. Before leaving Paris I was asked out on my first Parisian date, French man and all. I met this homme at a concert a few weeks earlier, and that night I spent time with him and a group of friends enjoying some great European electronic music and speaking French; I couldn’t ask for much more. Over French text message conversations we agreed to meet at a bar in my neighborhood (the 6th). I arrived. 15 minutes later, he arrived. We walked in and cozyied up in the corner. Once situated, we headed to the bar and spoke with the bartender about a good dry red wine we could drink. My date looked to me for an opinion, however as I informed him, my wine experience is quite minimal, so he was alone on the decision-making. Back to the table, bottle of wine and two glasses in hand, there I was, on my date—a place unfamiliar, a man unfamiliar, a concept (the date) unfamiliar. Pleasantly surprised aptly describes my impression of the whole experience. We ended up talking, yes in French, for 3 hours. While the chemistry was not apparent, my date’s goofiness was a blast and quite refreshing. After, he walked me towards my apartment, we “bise”-ed (cheek kisses) goodnight, and he said he would like if I called when I returned, but it was up to me. A day later, trusty facebook informed me of a couple of facts, the first being that my French date had friended me on the site, the second being his birthday—1980. At that moment, that made him 10 years older. Also, it should be noted that he definitely knew my age, because we discussed my upcoming birthday. Therefore, although I was just becoming fully adjusted to Paris, the timing of my 2-week trip to Amsterdam and St. Andrews came in a timely fashion, so that I could put off facing the 30-year-old man situation.