Do What You Say: Les Frenchies (Part 1)

Friends of mine are currently dealing with men who talk much, then do little or nothing. My girls are a pretty independent lot—they have minimal patience for such behavior and thus go about proving that their lives do not involve indulging these men's inflated sense of self. In return, the men sulk like little boys deprived of a toy that they paid fleeting attention to in the first place.

It's all rather disappointing at this stage in our lives. Why? We're not asking (yet or at all in some cases) for exclusivity. We just want directness and consistency.

Here's my addition to the fray:

At a French food festival last Sunday in Old Town, I met G, a somewhat-smoking expat Frenchman. (The accent!) He came on to me under the pretext of an expertise about authentic mustards. I allowed him to strut his feathers, not letting on that the typical coarse Americaine that I am the only mustard of interest on my radar is industrialized honey-mustard. Of which there was none at the mustard stand where I was only killing time waiting for my friend C to show up.

A few sampling of mustards later, G led me towards his group of friends for an intro where I met H whose face lit up with what I can only assume was some interest or curiosity as soon as I came into view. Hmmm, la noire. Please introduce....

G played the big man around festival, ferrying me and C (who showed up late) from stand to stand:

Taste this cured meat.
Have a cup of wine.
You like pate? Here, I buy this jar for you.
Good French restaurant? Ardoise—I take you there for dinner.
Yes, I cook (kissing his fingers) I invite you....

Pleaaaasse do and I hope you devour me....

I was completely turned on—maybe it was the wine. (And it helps that I love to eat.) C was swooning with approval, grinning from ear to ear.

... The festival was dying down. By now, G and I had exchanged numbers. I had gotten to know a bit about H and had swapped numbers with him too. To be honest—and you may not believe me—it was a friendly gesture on my part. I had dirty motives only for one Frenchie. Me and H had talked about African food, running and a bunch of other topics, and I thought he was a potential friend as I'm trying these days to even out my social network—I want more male friends.

Here are two little things about G that I noticed: seemingly strategic showy gestures of goodwill for others coupled with a short attention span. He was with you and then just as quickly out of sight, off to say something to this person or another. Back and forth. Back and forth. It had a dampening effect on my excitement. But still I lingered because he had offered to drop me home. When the festival eventually closed down (C had cunningly excused herself early) G walked ahead with his cousin. I saw no reason to be mad—the cousin was from out of town and rightly had some precedence. Don't you think? But still, when you kinda leave a woman alone, she starts to wonder.... H kept me company as we trailed them.

The cousin parted ways. H made his goodbye at G's car. I got a ride home, exchanged kisses and got fervent promises of "I call you", "Dinner", etc.

An hour later, I sent a “Thanks” text to G for the ride and the jar of olive spread that he had bought me.

A text came through—from H.

Nice to meet you, he wrote, and perhaps a shared African meal sometime soon.

Absolutement. Sure why not? I wrote back.

No response to my text from G that night.

Nothing at all throughout the following week.

(Part 2)