Monday, December 14, 2009

OLD-FRENCH-WHORE!


I'm an old married hag now, so I can admit without fear of ridicule that my capacity to flirt is limited at best.


I grew up in the heartland where the rules of attraction were fuzzy. If you liked someone, you had several methods of transmitting your amorous feelings. I never had a clue which one I should be using since it depended on so many different things...

- will there be a blizzard this afternoon? (from Nov-Apr. the answer to this question is always YES. Meaning my car has become a makeshift igloo whose only use is being a target for my dog; no way I'm going on dates in that yellow-stained P.O.S.)

- will it be 110 degrees outside? (Again, from Jul-Aug.. YES. In which case I have to spend the day under a rock to hide my aforementioned ridunkulous sweating tragedy.)

- the proximity of bovine waste (manure always puts a damper on the romance card.)

- how many Miller Genuine Drafts were just pounded by poking a pen into a can (beergoggles most definitely lead to regret.)

- does he have "Jerry Springer" fan written on his face? (this eliminates a large portion of the potential flirt population already.)

- is there a skank standing in the wings who wants to break a chair over my head if I talk to him (you don't see this one coming the first few times you approach your target.)

If conditions were right, you could spray your crush with beer, go cowtipping, or my personal favorite, stand in a corner of a bar and pretend to ignore them completely.

... it was complicated and.. well.. unrefined.

Here, it's a whole new ballgame.
  I could be mauled by an ape and still get hit on as long as I have a vag, it's almost a rule. This tradition is hardwired into some men, like holding the door open is for American gentleman.

And they don't flirt lightly either. In the states you'll get a cat call, or a slurred "hayy babry comma talkky with usssss freh sec?" The french dial it up 25 notches. "Hello my dearest beauty, may I inform you that you are a stunning flower of delicate grace and I would like nothing more than for you to know that you are lovingly admired." ... I swear to dieu that a construction worker said that to me last week.

If you're unfamiliar with the French, I suggest you follow these rules lovingly relayed by my husband when I first arrived:

1) Under no circumstances should you EVER talk to ANYONE at ANY TIME, ANYWHERE. You are a MUTE.
2) They are the male equivalent of Medusa. Look them in the eye, and they will make you very uncomfortable.
3) Touching is out of the question. Forget your hands exist. You, are officially appendageless. 
4) Don't kiss the banker. That's a whole other story I'll get to later when I tackle greetings.

Assuming you follow these rules, you should make it out alive and un-whored.

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