Paris isn’t called the City of Love for no reason.
I’m on the flight home to Prague from Paris now, typing this up while brushing bread crumbs off my keyboard (shamelessly eating a baguette on the plane because… Paris). And what a rosé-filled wonderful weekend it was.
Once upon a time, I called this beautiful city my home, living and working as an au pair for a French family in the heart of Paris. I was a broke college graduate but I lived in my own petit chambre on Rue Monge and had a dream life.
One month into my dream life in Paris, I met a handsome Parisian who asked me out on a date to practice his English. I got to learn a bit of French and had my own personal tour guide of Paris for the few months we were together. It was fun and exciting and different and cultural and then it ended as quickly as it started. I didn’t start this blog to write about anything but fun(ny) stories about dating so we’ll leave it as a fabulous French love affair. I did send him a Facebook message asking to get a drink when I was in town but he saw the message and never answered (for good reason… story for another time).
A few months after the French love ended, a cute American boy came into my Parisian apartment with a bouquet of roses and we dated for the next few months (another story for another time). Something about the air in France does wonders for a person and, like I said earlier, it’s not called the City of Love for nothing. A beautiful mixture of the wine, the food, the views and the language does wonders for a person and makes even someone anti-PDA like me want to hold hands while walking down the Seine.
(I haven’t written full posts about either of those ex-boyfriends but they’ve both been mentioned in a previous post here: https://chekkmeout.com/2015/11/20/boyfriends-of-birthdays-past/)
So as you can see, I’ve had some luck finding boyfriends in Paris, obviously this luck would continue with each visit to Paris (or so I would assume). I arrived on Thursday morning, worked for the rest of the week at my company’s Paris office and stayed with my cousins at their Airbnb in the 10th Arrondissement.
I swiped for a few Parisians on Tinder but never made actual plans to meet up. I was spending the weekend with my cousins and a few friends who were in town so (for once) Tinder wasn’t the priority. But don’t think that just because I wasn’t swiping doesn’t mean that I wasn’t interested though.
On Saturday night, I went to dinner with my cousins for our last dinner in Paris. We went to a cafe near our apartment and I’m not sure if my aunt chose the place because of the sunset views on the terrace, the croque monsieur on the menu or the hot waiter working there. I’m gonna say that she chose it based on Option #3 – she was clearly looking out for a single gal over here.
The waiter came over and as he’s handing us the menus, my aunt nudged me under the table (as if she didn’t think I hadn’t noticed him already??) Bonjour, monsieur! I could barely speak when I ordered a glass of rosé, I was basically starstruck.
As soon as he walked away, we all burst into laughter when we realized we had all been staring at him, and my cousin admitted that he was a good looking guy. I was swooning for sure, but wasn’t sure how to flirt with him in front of my family.
Well… I didn’t have to worry about how to flirt with him, because every time he would come back to our table, he would subtly “flirt” with someone else – whether it was calling my high school cousin “dude,” being super friendly with my two girl cousins, joking with my uncle, or impressing my aunt by speaking Spanish (“great Spanish… wink”) – he was quickly winning over the whole family.
Right when we were all wondering how I would give him my phone number, Sergio came over (we decided he looked like a Sergio, nice strong name) and put down the bill along with a few extra coasters.
And then this happened:
Sergio says to the family: You know, sometimes when I put the coasters down, people leave their phone numbers on them… Like yes, Stephanie left her number, so sometimes other people leave their numbers as well…
And then he looked at me and walked away.
Heart.Melted. (but also, who’s Stephanie? Better not be his GF)
Did he just really not-so-subtly tell me to leave my phone number? Either that or he wanted my uncle’s (sorry Paul, I love you , but…he’s all mine). The girls giggled and told me that of course I had to leave it. So of course I did. I wrote my name and my WhatsApp number on the back of a coaster and then put it on top of the tip that was left for Sergio the Smokeshow.
As soon as we left the restaurant, we almost took a selfie in front to save the memory of this night until my cousin realized that Sergio was probably watching and he couldn’t realize how weird I was yet (good call, Ry). The whole walk home, we were all giddy with the possibility of this new Parisian romance. The girls would be my maids of honor in the wedding and Ryan as the ring bearer, we’d have it in Paris at his restaurant and then we’d pretty much live happily ever after. #ouioui
I went out later that night with a friend and made sure my phone was fully charged and that my data planned worked to get WhatsApp messages, as I needed to make sure I was available to get the text that would change the course of my life. And then I did the rude thing by keeping my phone out at the bar, waiting, still waiting…stilllll waiting for the text. I went home later that night with no new messages on my phone, and nothing when I was back on WiFi. C’est triste.
Sergio pretty much told me to put my phone number on the coaster and then never texted me. Did I give him the right number? Does he have WhatsApp? Was my data not working? Maybe my phone was broken. Those were the scenarios that my cousins and I came up with, the only explanations for the lack of messages that he sent me. Pourquoi Sergio, pourquoi???
Still holding out hope for that message that might just come one of these days, or maybe I’ll have to plan another trip to Paris this fall. Je ne sais pas… Pas d’amour á Paris.