That resolution lasted about a month.
The night that I met Charles I had consumed 3 bottles of rosé wine with a friend. And of course, because I still haven't learnt my lesson about drinking on an empty stomach (even though I'm now in my mid-twenties) I was well on my way to being on the wrong side of merry. Note to self: "Eating's cheating" was fine at age 20, now, it's just a downright stupid philosophy.
After the aforementioned wine I was far too drunk to care that I found myself in an Anglo bar. Yes, my snobby attitude had disappeared and, according to the pictures that I found on my phone the next day, I had had a great time talking to my fellow boozers in some tiny pub in the Marais whose name now deserts me. My memories are hazy but I remember one such fellow boozer as being a hot English guy in a suit who I had a drunken kiss with right in the middle of this tiny pub. Classy! The next thing I remember is him giving me his name (Charles) and number on a piece of paper before he made a hasty exit.
After I had gotten over my hangover the next day I text Charles. His quick exit had left me wanting more and from what I remembered he was very attractive. We text back and forth for a few days, I was loving the British humor and so was very quick to agree to a date with him that weekend. He told me that he was relatively new to Paris so I suggested that we went to Chez Justine, one of my favourite restaurants ever! So on the Friday I got home, got myself dolled up and headed to the 11émé.
When I came out the metro station and met Charles I silently cursed my beer goggles. Charles wasn't bad looking but he was ever so slightly shorter than me (eek!) and was very baby faced. Even though I like my men tall I overlooked it, after all he had made the effort of wearing a suit and we were going to my favourite restaurant, things could have been a lot worse. As we walked towards the restaurant Charles asked me how my day had been. I told him about my day at work and mentioned how I had went to the gym after. That was when strike one happened. Charles actually stunned me into silence by actually saying out loud "Yeah, I really need to join a gym. At the moment I look like a Holocaust victim when I'm naked." Seriously, who says things like that?! Especially when on a FIRST DATE!!! Thankfully it was dark so I doubt he saw the look on my face. I told myself that perhaps he was just nervous and decided that I would ignore his faux pas.
Once seated inside the restaurant however, things went from bad to worse. In passing I mentioned that he had also been in a suit the last time I had met him when strike two happened. Charles informed me that he did not own a single pair of jeans and that he wore suits every single day, not for work, just because he wanted to. Not only did he wear suits but he often accompanied them with a fedora hat. BOOM! This was closely followed up by him talking about how much he just loved smoking. I try not to judge people on how they dress and if people want to smoke it's their choice but living your life like you are on the set of Mad Men is a little deluded. Predictably he also loved the music of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin and scoffed when I told him that I like a little of everything, aaaaand strike three!!!!
Over our (delicious!) meal the topic of age came up. Charles had implied to me that he had a very good job and so, the topics of education and work came up. Something wasn't quite adding up though until he admitted that he was a mere twenty years old and that his birthday had been one month before! His very good job was an internship! Strike four! Charles cheerfully asked me if this was a problem and even though I said no, there was no hiding the expression on my face. Now, I know, I know, 'age is only a number', blah, blah, blah but take that 5 year age gap and add a big dose of immaturity and then it becomes very relevant. The very final straw came however when Charles asked me what year I had graduated. When I told him 2008 he actually laughed and declared "Oh wow, that's the year I started!". BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!!!! Strike five! Thankfully he lived in the suburbs of Paris and had to catch the RER home (explanation for his quick exit the night we had met) so there was no time for post-dinner drinks. Very sweetly, he did try to pay for my meal but there was no way I could let that happen, he was practically still a child in my eyes!
As we said goodbye I silently praised the 'bisous' for giving me a polite goodbye without that awkward kiss avoidance. We exchanged a few more texts before I (truthfully) told Charles I didn't think we had much in common. My foray back into the world of Anglo boys had been a disaster. From now on I would stick to Frenchmen.
