The French Connection

Parlez vous francais?

I think I better put some dating stories up on this site or you lot are going to sue me under the Trades Description Act as it’s meant to be a dating blog. For some reason the Universe seems to send me everything in three’s, I have no idea why it does this, probably is bored senseless and just playing with me (or getting it’s own back on me being so mischievous) but anyway, a few years ago it was the turn of French woman..

Frenchie number one didn’t send out any obvious red lights and right off the bat she said why swap lots of emails, let’s just meet up, suits me perfectly so off I skip to Greenwich Park in the summer. Met up and engaged in polite conversation, or should I say ‘I’ engaged in polite conversation, she said bugger all apart from yes and no.. She said extremely little during the very very very very very long hour over coffee, and I’m wondering am I really ‘that’ scary, conversation is a two way street and if someone doesn’t engage then it doesn’t work, at the end of the torture she did say something, “You talk an awful lot..”… it seems I was meant to sit there in silence like one of those monks who have forsworn talking between sunrise and sunset…. sigh.. my turn to run away screaming..

So then it was off to Kilburn, North London for French woman number deux (F2) , (I should point out this was a few weeks later, I’m not a slut, you know!).  Arrived at Kilburn at allotted place and F2 was waiting there by the tube station, seemed OK and lets go get something to eat, after all it was lunch time, so F2 and I wander down Kilburn High Road looking for somewhere to eat, Kilburn High Road is just stuffed full of places to eat, it consists of now’t but Middle Eastern restaurants, 100’s if not 1000’s of places to eat.. so off we wander and pick the first clean looking one, and that’s not nice enough for F2, so a few more and Non! Still not acceptable and eventually we find a place which passes muster, I already had a feeling of dread in my tum..

In the restaurant and we order some lunch, well, when I say ‘we’ I mean I picked some random item off the menu that I had never heard of, or couldn’t even pronounce for that matter and F2 picked the most English meal possible from the menu, the irony wasn’t lost on me.  However, she then proceeded to tell the waiter to relay instructions to the ‘chef’ (or acne ridden sixteen year old paid minimum wage to heat things up out back in the kitchens) about how to cook French beans, yes, seriously, and then ask about 20 questions about the bottled water… I looked at the waiter and rolled my eyes, in a sort of ‘please don’t blame me..’ look.. I was sure he was going to spit in my coffee..

So the food (eventually) arrived and F2 picked up a French bean and chewed the end of it for a bit and called the waiter over and explained that it needed cooked some more… so the waiter, not used to being told by a woman that his food sucks, he was middle eastern after all, started arguing with her and picked one up and tried it, it was fine he said but non, non, F2 insisted that he take the French beans back and cook then for at least another five minutes… In the meanwhile my lunch, whatever it was, was getting cold but it’s bad manners to start eating before your date so I sat there, embarrassed, not because my stomach thought my throat was cut but because of the behaviour of F2. Eventually the waiter brought back F2’s meal; amusingly enough with the half chewed French bean still sitting on the plate and F2 started eating whilst complaining about the service. I eyed the waiter and he gave me that look that only men know about, it was the silent nod that said two things, (a) he pitied me immensely.. and (b) he had got some stray alley cat to lick the French beans before putting them back on the plate.. I winked back knowingly..

Then F2 told me not to drink any of the water as there was ice in it, I asked why and she told me it was very bad for your digestion, the ice shocked the intestines and then they couldn’t absorb nutrients… I choose to risk it…

So eventually I got her to chat about her life, if seemed that she was running out of space in her house, I asked why but she said it just didn’t have enough rooms, there were five bedrooms and she was running out of space, I asked why as there was only her and her dog living there and she told me that she had 500 dresses.. I laughed out loud…she asked why was I laughing and I said Oh excuse me, for a second I thought you said you had 500 dresses… and she said, that’s correct, they are her ‘babies’ and she could never get rid of them so they are stored all over the house in boxes..  I suggested maybe that was a bit excessive but she said she loved each and every one… little did I know I would be meeting the Imelda Marcos of dress world in Kilburn that day..

So, I’m struggling to make conversation, my knowledge of haute couture is practically zero, I’m impressed that I manage to drop names like Coco Chanel, Christian Dior, and Givenchy. Into the conversation but I’m running on empty and wondering just how much longer can I endure this torture before I slit my wrists with one of the knives..

So she asks have I got a car and I said, yes, of course.. big mistake… would I mind coming along to Sainsburys after the meal and helping her with her shopping… Now I know ‘some’ supermarkets tried doing a Singles night years ago, you can imagine just how that goes, it’s like speed-dating plus you get to get your shopping, and if you get lucky you can buy wine and condomns.. but I didn’t think I would be engaging in such activity any time soon. Then she said that since I had transport I would be able to take her next weekend out to Cornwall to see her friends whom she hadn’t seen for years… Cornwall is about a twelve hour drive on a good day.. and then she give me a long list of people ‘we’ simply must go see..some even up in Scotland… By this point I was thinking a life of celibacy was preferable to spending another hour with F2 , no, let me rephrase that – I was convinced that a life of celibacy was preferably to spending any longer in her presence so I told her “Sorry but I just don’t see us two as a good match and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time, so I’m going to cut this short..’

Well, that was a mistake, she said she was shocked, I had sat there and flirted openly with her and how dare ‘I’ chose to end a date when it takes at least half a dozen dates to get to know anyone… and then she started cursing and swearing at me, telling me what a male chauvinist pig I was and that I only used woman for sex.. I was trying my best to get out gracefully and cause as little insult but then the ‘really’ bad cursing started… It was at this point that the waiter and the ‘chef’ came out to watch with everyone else in the restaurant.. I was mortified and I said thank you and goodbye and walked out.. I’ve never done that ever in my life but even I have my limits.. I did think I’d get a knife throw in my back..

French woman #3 will have to wait for another day as it’s past bewitching hour here in Tooting, SW London..

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