We exchanged emails. They were flirty. It was fun. And then we spoke on the phone. This is where it all went pear shaped.
You see, I couldn't understand a fucking word he said. I'm all for a Frenchie, god damn yes. But he was telling me about a film he was making or something, and I just didn't get it. The conversation went something like this:
French bloke: Oh, well [cordon bleu, son des mots, bonsoir, petit pois, entrez-vous] the film and [À qui pâté en croûte de gorge de chèvre est celui]!
Me: Sorry?
French bloke: The film! It's [odeur de ces roses des figues de décomposition] and that's how I [mon âne a une queue brune]. Cool huh?
Me: I really didn't catch that.
Frenchy (slightly exasperated): Oh, it was [le poisson est dans la table de dressage].
Me: Oh really! Huh. How 'bout that.
Of course, I was still clueless. It was worse when he asked me a question.
So we kept trying to hook up. But he only wanted to meet on weekends, and I only could meet week nights, and in the end I got a text message saying "Are you free anytime in the next three days, or should we just give up? Doesn't seem that we are able to synch our schedules, so I am wondering if there's any point taking this any further...;-) What are your thoughts?"
I waited a few days, but I said I'd still like to catch up. After all, it seems a terrible shame not to have the chance to not understand him in person.
I'll keep you posted.
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