The Frenchman. Possibly Part 1.

So I was totally stoked to be chatting with this French bloke. Firstly, he was smart. Or seemed to be, and secondly, I just love French blokes because they sound really sexy. Even if they're not.  As a kid, I was utterly mesmerised by Charles Aznavour.  I wasn't the only one.

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.