Can't believe she fell in love with someone that wears more make-up than her

Posted by Isabel Dexter at 23:50 on 7 Jan 2010

• Print
• Share
• Comment

You know there is a problem with your life when it seems that only Katy Perry really understands. Russell Brand's bird (sorry future-wife) has got it just about right with the "Why are these lights so bright? Did we get hitched last night?" and enough already of the "You're hot then you're cold, you're yes then you're no". I don't mean to be a traitor to my new nation and all, but French boys - WTF? It's either a constant deluge of phone calls and "My mother would love you" (erm ok, so I won't  bring vodka) or "Maybe you're the woman of my life or maybe I will meet her on the street". Head to Pigalle, love, I heard it's a great place to pick up suitable future fiancees.

Meanwhile, The New Blonde(ette) and I have been discussing the merits of dating a church-going boy. "I know it's not high school" she told me clad head-to-toe in her grandmother's fur, "but you know, it's just not cool." I thought perhaps I'd met my perfect match, half-English, Half-French amidst the Eurostar disaster. While waiting at Gare du Nord in the snow (ok, it wasn't exactly snowing inside the station but lets set the scene here kids) I was invited for hot chocolate, dinner and then what I took to be a few casual drinks at his friends' flat. Drinks, turned out to be half a bottle of the red wine his friends usually use for cooking or a can of Stella. I'm not exactly high-maintenance but I only drink lager in Macdonalds now. And only when hung over. It's like Bloody Mary for down-and-out writers. Anyway, things took an unexpected turn for the worst when I announced in no uncertain terms that I was going to be spending the bed-part of the night in my own apartment. "Couldn't you just at least get naked first?" he asked me, "Or are you a prude with things like that?" ("Burst in the door and take me away. No more mistakes"). Sometimes I think Paris is a bit like the UK was in the Seventies. It must be great to be a man here. 

Or perhaps I need to work on 'the latin thing'. Kissing French girls? Check ("Ain't no big deal, it's innocent." Although I do think that if you share saliva, champagne and your fake Louis Vuitton scarf with someone that they should accept your friend request. Honestly, what has happened to good old fashion manners in this city?) Bobo (bourgeois boheme) men who are supposedly marriage material? Check. The cute 20 year old boy who works in the Muffin shop near the Sorbonne? Check. "I'm done with all this" I told TNB, "I just want to sleep with someone I am actually in love with now." "Honey," she laughed, "We all go through those phases.... what you need is to go for cocktails at the Meurice and find someone who can actually afford to take you for dinner." ("Don't play cheap with your heart, don't make a bet if you can't write the check." )

Meanwhile, an English ex-pat couple I know apparently in the first throes of romance shared their Christmas present exchanges with me this week. He bought her the box set for The Tudors. She bought him a shower curtain and ....wait for it...a door stop. Ok I'll take the french any day..that's what you get for waking up in Paris.

• Next entry
• Previous entry