Ennui
Tonight I'm beyond bored.
I worked all day *yawn* and then had a French lesson*Je baîlle*.
It's specified in my employment contract that I'm entitled to 60 hours of private language instruction. Tonight I had hours 54 and 55. So, I guess I'm almost completely French.
Early on in my intention to study French, I, being a serious student desiring of a well-rounded education, decided to date a French man. It was wonderful for a while, but I noticed quickly that our French lessons kept deteriorating into makeout sessions. Over time, my general proficiency with French hadn't increased as I'd hoped. I do, however, now possess a fairly extensive vocabulary of vulgar French words for the baby-making bits and nearly shameful control over the trilled R.
I'm not sure how useful this will be in a business setting.
In the end, I admit that having a French lover wasn't all I thought it would be. Sure they are fun to play with, and very nice to look at, but it's my (limited) experience that they are also completely psychotic.
Or maybe, in fairness to the eleventy-hexillion other French men, it was just this particular one.
Our last moments together took place one candle-lit evening between 10:10 and 10:20pm. I remember sitting on the couch cozily with him, when he asked me if I had drunk the last of the cognac. I said I had. He said "but yesterday you said you were going to wait and drink it with me". I replied "oh, did I? I don't remember. I'm sorry. I drank it". At which point he called me a liar, got up and started packing his things to leave. When I tried to talk to him, he said in his super sexy French accent "if you are going to lie to me about small things, there is nothing that you won't lie to me about". I started to protest, and wanted to tell him that, although I drank that particular cognac, I had earlier in the day bought another bottle,. But he put his finger on my lips and said, smoulderingly, "don't speak to me, I don't want to hear your lies".
It was the only time I've ever simultaneously experienced raw fury and raw desire to rip someones' clothes off.
Without another word from either of us, he left my apartment and my life forever.
Tonight I'm beyond bored.
I worked all day *yawn* and then had a French lesson*Je baîlle*.
It's specified in my employment contract that I'm entitled to 60 hours of private language instruction. Tonight I had hours 54 and 55. So, I guess I'm almost completely French.
Early on in my intention to study French, I, being a serious student desiring of a well-rounded education, decided to date a French man. It was wonderful for a while, but I noticed quickly that our French lessons kept deteriorating into makeout sessions. Over time, my general proficiency with French hadn't increased as I'd hoped. I do, however, now possess a fairly extensive vocabulary of vulgar French words for the baby-making bits and nearly shameful control over the trilled R.
I'm not sure how useful this will be in a business setting.
In the end, I admit that having a French lover wasn't all I thought it would be. Sure they are fun to play with, and very nice to look at, but it's my (limited) experience that they are also completely psychotic.
Or maybe, in fairness to the eleventy-hexillion other French men, it was just this particular one.
Our last moments together took place one candle-lit evening between 10:10 and 10:20pm. I remember sitting on the couch cozily with him, when he asked me if I had drunk the last of the cognac. I said I had. He said "but yesterday you said you were going to wait and drink it with me". I replied "oh, did I? I don't remember. I'm sorry. I drank it". At which point he called me a liar, got up and started packing his things to leave. When I tried to talk to him, he said in his super sexy French accent "if you are going to lie to me about small things, there is nothing that you won't lie to me about". I started to protest, and wanted to tell him that, although I drank that particular cognac, I had earlier in the day bought another bottle,. But he put his finger on my lips and said, smoulderingly, "don't speak to me, I don't want to hear your lies".
It was the only time I've ever simultaneously experienced raw fury and raw desire to rip someones' clothes off.
Without another word from either of us, he left my apartment and my life forever.
posted by Penless Artist at 8:27 p.m.
2 Comments:
Handsome and sexy but not very bright eh.
he is french....I believe that sums it up pretty good. All french men are quite odd. They smell odd, they act odd, they eat odd(ly). That is why I married a German, they are very staight foward, even to the paoint of being rude...but hey you always know what they are thinking....
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