The other night I went out with Jacques, who’s a super hot Frenchie. Being that he’s brand new to New York, I was in charge of making the plans for our date. I thought I would make Jacques feel at home, so I told him to meet me at L’Express and gave him the address.
As I got dressed, I tried to capture the Eurotrash look. I wore a black harem pants jumpsuit that made me look very skinny, a yellow Kieselstein-Cord rabbit belt, and 5-inch black strappy sandals. The humidity was atrocious but I still managed to blow dry my hair. Jacques looked gorgeous in a blue v-neck, jeans, and loafers. I find French men to be so naturally sexy.
Over a delightful dinner, we conversed in French. We spoke about our likes and dislikes. I informed Jacques that I’m obsessed with anything and anyone French. He laughed but didn’t understand why. I’ve noticed that French people never appreciate the beauty of their language or culture.
Jacques was impressed with my French skills. He complimented me on my accent and said it was almost perfect. I rattled off a list of my favorite places from when I lived in Paris. Jacques has ironically been to a few of my favorite restaurants. I went back to Paris in December, but most of the places I loved weren’t the same. The only place that didn’t change was La Duree. I told Jacques that I adore French macaroons and when I lived in Paris, I ate one every day. He said that he also goes crazy for them but hasn’t seen any in New York. I told him about Financier, a delicious French bakery that has French style macaroons. Jacques was very pleased and said that I was a better tour guide than he imagined.
I was having a great time with Jacques but I wanted to make sure he didn’t have a girlfriend in Paris. The French tend to have affairs, and the last thing I need to do is get involved with another person who isn’t single. Sometimes I make mistakes when I speak in French so just to be sure he understood me, I spoke in English. I asked him if he had a wife, a girlfriend, or someone he was seeing. Jacques replied saying he was completely single. Phew – that was a relief.
Jacques paid for dinner and suggested we go to the bar for a drink. The conversation continued in French. I was so proud of myself that I was able to have a real conversation in French. When I lived in Paris, I was almost fluent, but now that I live in New York, it’s not every day that I’m able to speak French. I didn’t want to cut the evening short, but I was exhausted. I apologized to Jacques and said I couldn’t stay out too late. He understood and said he would pay for our drinks. He asked for the check and 2 minutes later, he walked me outside. Jacques brushed my hair back and gave me a kiss on the lips. He told me I was a wonderful tour guide and he’d like to see me again soon.
I went home dreaming of a sexy Frenchman and his accent. I really don’t know why, but accents are my weakness. My Matchmaker mom would warn me not to date a foreigner. She’s always imagined me ending up with a tall, dark, and handsome Jewish boy from Long Island. Jacques wasn’t Jewish but he definitely was tall, dark, and handsome.