Goodbye Didier....

So I thought Didier was a keeper but it turned out I was wrong. After Christmas we arranged to meet up via Facebook a couple of times. Each time he had said to me, "text me when you want to meet". The 1st time that I text him after a conversation like this and he didn't reply I brushed it off. The 2nd time it happened though I got mad!

It was a Saturday and we had arranged a little rendez vous the night before. Didier had told me to text him the next day to make arrangements and so around 3pm I text and asked when he wanted me. As I waited for his reply I went through the good old female routine that you painfully go through when sleeping with a new guy: shaving, exfoliating, moisturising, plucking, nail painting, underwear choosing (actually, that part's not so painful), outfit choosing, blow drying, hair straightening, perfume spraying and above all - criticitzing!

By the time I was finished this loooong beauty routine I expected a reply from Didier but nada. I figured he was just busy and would get back to me soon. I was wrong. Around 5pm I text him again. By the time 7pm rolled round I was majorly unhappy and decided that I would just treat myself to a couple of bottles of wine instead, oh and maybe some chocolate. (the endorphins in chocolate are supposed to mimic the pleaseure of sex right? Take that and the wine and it would be just like the first night I spent with Didier!)

An hour (give or take), half a bottle of rose down and copious amounts of chocolate later I was in no way feeling any endorphins, I was just plain pissed off and I sure wasn't doing myself any favours by watching 'danse avec les stars' (is that programme good in any language!?) and engaging in plentiful Facebook stalking. And then I saw it, the f**cking, bast***ing, c**t, dic***ad, frog was online! (excuse my French!) Fuelled by the wine I wrote him a somewhat snappy message:

 Me: Thanks for not getting back to me, had I known you were going to cancel I would've made other plans.
Didier: You were supposed to text me to arrange.
Me: I did and you didnt reply!!!!
D : No you never
Me (getting agitated) : Oh yes I fucking did, is this not your number, 06*********?

And then...he went offline!

Oh and a little thing I forgot to mention...I had got a new phone approx 2 weeks before this whole exchange took place. Not everyone had my new number so I was still keeping my old phone charged and switched on. (Can you see where this is going?!)

About 5 minutes later my old phone started vibrating with a message: 'Hello, this is the correct number for me.' Oh yeees, you guessed it, I had entered the wrong number into my new phone. All that while being mad that I had received no reply to my texts and I hadn't even been texting the correct number - what an idiot!!! I replied and asked if Didier still wanted to meet up. He didn't, he had made alternative plans. Plenty more wine had been consumed during this exchange so I will blame that for my hot-headedness, 'Fine', I replied 'but I can't be bothered with this and therefore I never want to see you again!'

Of course it was totally irrational and over the top but Didiers response totally floored me. I swear it was the worst thing a guy has ever ever said to me and I had got some great abuse from 'C' (stupid fucking slut being a personal favourite). Never had abuse like this from a guy made me stop and think so much and really question myself. Over and over I played it in my mind, so mortified, upset and embarassed.

Didier had told me that I had bad breath!!!!


Yep, you read that right. I brush x2 a day, floss and chew plenty of gum. Jesus, how had this happened. Why hadn't any of my friends ever told me about this problem? How could I ever kiss a guy again?! I was so embarassed but I had to know the thruth and so the next day I called my great friend K (she gives tough love) to ask her if it was true. She of all people would tell me if it was. As I mumbled the awful 'Do I have bad breath?' down the phone I could feel my face burning. Thankfully I got the answer I wanted to hear: 'Whaaat?! No you do not!!! What a fucking arsehole! Do you really think I would let you go on dates with guys if you had bad breath?' K tells it like it is and even though she had to reassure me several more times I believed her.

Needless to say, I didn't contact/hear from Didier again.

But here is the lesson in this...if you ever want to make someone really paranoid, self-doubting and embarrased - tell them they have bad breath, not everyone is as lucky to have such a straight talking and honest friend as me!

Introduction

Welcome to the adventures of this Anglo-Slut. If you happen to have stumbled across this then I apologise in advance for any raciness you may encounter. If you are looking for the typical blog about someone living in Paris talking about long walks and museums and the beauty of it all then you will be disappointed. The only beauty I will refer to is that of the Frenchmen that I am surrounded by. There is a reason for this blog...my dear dear friend hereby known as NC dared to move to the other side of the world, we are both rubbish at emailing and recently she asked me to write a blog so...voila!
I won't write much about me except that I am an anglo who has been living in Paris for over 2years now. Just over a year ago I split up with my English boyfriend, so this blog will document all past and current Frenchman encounters, all for the benefit of NC!
As it is stupid o'clock in the morning here I will keep this 1st post brief but as an introduction here is some observations about the most beautiful men on Earth (the Frenchies)

• Frenchmen are the only nationality in the world that can pull off that floppy hair.
• They seen to have a rule book that they use for chatting up Anglo girls - the favourite seems to be 'you have such beautiful eyes' - bleugh!
• It is perfectly normal for them to approach a girl walking down the street and ask for her number/a date.
• They always seem to have a large stash of condoms by their bed and whip them out fast. Unlike Anglo boys they dont try to just stick it in. If its hard then it's wrapped up.
• Kissing in a club generally makes them think that sexytime is automatically on the cards.
• 'Tres jolie' appears to actually be sincere. 'So beautiful' seems to be used when they are trying to get laid.
• A Frenchman talking dirty to you is exhilirating. If you have never had the pleasure then it sucks to be you.
• Anglo girls tend to be viewed as easy - I'm not gonna lie, I'm the kind of Anglo girl that adds to that reputation.

Might be worth mentioning that I seem to have a 'type' of Frenchman that I go for. In general they have floppy hair, designer stubble and brown eyes like pools of chocolate you could swim in. Oh and I also seem to be attrated to the he-sluts!

So introduction over - I'm off to sleep. Enjoy NC - you owe me a fucking good email now! ;)