This had me stumped. For one thing, the only cut flowers I like are really big, blousy ones like tulips and sunflowers, which my amoureuse (or ex-amoureuse) found vulgar. And the whole ‘taxi’s outside’ thing was a throwback to her ex. He used to do that now and again and she loved it. I did arrange romantic evenings, but too often, it seemed, I actually consulted her on where she’d like to go. Democracy and equality, I thought. Cold English indifference, she decided.
‘My ex was so romantic,’ she said, the warm glow of blind nostalgia in her eyes.
‘The one who was always cheating on you? The one who dumped you the day before your birthday? For a girl with a rich dad?’ Oh, yes, he was romantic all right.
But it was no use objecting. She could only remember his non-stop bouquets and the veritable hurricane of je t’aimes that he’d whispered her way.
The thing is, like so much in French culture, love is about style rather than substance. There are florists all over the place in French towns, and French husbands rarely fail to pick up a few roses on their way home to their wives after a quick bout of adultery. And as his wife is putting the blooms in a vase, the husband will be texting his mistress to tell her he can still feel her luscious nipples pressed against his lips. Oh yes, French men are romantic all right.
Getting it on the French way
So what is the best way to succeed in the game de l’amour?
To answer this, it is vital to understand French mating rituals.
As in all countries where the two sexes are allowed to go to school together, French mating usually begins amongst classmates. There are almost no single-sex secondary schools, so French lycées are just as much like dating agencies or hormonal experimentation labs as the American high schools we’ve all seen in teen movies. What’s more, the lycée is for fifteen- to eighteen-year-olds only, so there are no pre-pubescent children to giggle when more mature students feel like exchanging saliva in the corridor.
In one way, lycées are more healthily sexual than British schools, because no French schoolkid has to wear a uniform. This means that the French don’t go in for gymslip fantasies. To a Frenchman, a girl in school uniform just looks like an air hostess for a low-cost 37 Romanian airline.
University can be a slightly tougher time for French kids to get together, because almost none of them leave the parental home to go and study in another town, so they don’t experience the fun of having a room out of earshot of their parents. And, unlike Americans, few French students have cars to use as mobile bedrooms. The only consolation is that French universities are on strike so frequently that students will often be free to frolic during the daytime when their parents are at work.
Some Brits think that the lack of pubs in France must make it more difficult for people to meet each other, but there is really no need to worry on their account. There are plenty of clubs, bars and parties, and internet dating is the one thing about the web that the French have mastered. What’s more, unlike in politically correct, hung-up America, men and women actually look at each other in the street, and let each other know that they’re interested in what they’re seeing. If eye contact and a smile are exchanged, French men are very adept at accosting a woman to tell her that she is beautiful and would be making the biggest mistake of her life if she didn’t agree to come for a drink at the nearest café.
The workplace is also a popular place to meet a partner. Here, the French have a major advantage over some Anglo-Saxon countries. Sexual harassment is illegal, and a misplaced hand on a colleague’s anatomy can lead to dismissal or prosecution, but a simple compliment will not be taken as a declaration of gender war.
This compliment cannot be along the lines of ‘Oh, what spectacular breasts you have, Madame.’38 I have been told some horror stories by French women who appreciate sincere compliments but feel like thumping a man who oversteps the line. One woman friend of mine arrived at a meeting with two male colleagues to find that there were only two chairs in the room. ‘It doesn’t matter, you can sit on my lap,’ one of the men said. ‘No, thanks, I’d rather sit on the floor,’ she replied. The French may be open about sex, but they do know the difference between chat-up lines and stupid sexism.
Workmates who want to find out whether they have more in common than a love of sales figures will probably start going out to lunch together, because French colleagues don’t go in much for casual socializing after work, the traditional time when the Brits loosen up and swap shoptalk for sweet-talk.
After a couple of lunches, there will be the invitation to an early-evening drink or dinner, almost always coming from the man. The woman will usually wait to be asked out. If two people are getting on well and the man doesn’t suggest taking things further pretty quickly, she will either assume he’s not interested in her sexually, or that he’s too much of a wimp for her to bother with. If the drink or dinner goes well, and the mood is relaxed, both parties know full well that the woman will be propositioned.
If the man says that he’d like to cook dinner for the woman at his place, and she accepts, then she has practically agreed to spend the night with him already. If she goes to his apartment and the man doesn’t make a move before the last crumbs of his dessert have been sensually swallowed, then she will be mortally offended and probably
