Man of my Dreams!?!

This Thursday, sitting happily alone on a bench in the school courtyard, I was approached by an elderly man (read: anywhere from 60 to 75). I had my headphones on, several open books in my lap, and was clearly not interested in being interrupted. Despite this otherwise obvious sign, he began to talk to me. Mundanely, at first, with an accent so strong that I struggled to understand him. And then, in that way so seemingly natural to French men, it became, "So, are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you have liaisons?" He began this lengthy tangent about amour, none of which I understood due to his accent, and I was slightly flabbergasted as to how best respond. And then he invited me to lunch and this conference at the local cathedral about the life of St. Paul. When I told him I couldn't go, he proceeded to give me ALL of his contact information--address, two email addresses, phone numbers...At one point, he couldn't remember one of his phone numbers and so he pulled an immense magnifying glass out of his pocket to look in the phone book of his cell phone for the number. I, ever unable to say no and thinking that I would never have to see him again, consented to give him my cell-phone number when he asked for it. Clearly, I thought, I just won't answer when he calls.

And so the whole event seemed comically concluded by Friday afternoon; nothing more than another excuse to make fun of French men. It was for this reason that I thought nothing of my ringing phone. I answered it, excited by the French number, only to be greeted by the gravelly and practically incomprehensible voice of Jean, my geriatric new love. He invited me to lunch on Saturday, if the weather was nice. Being that I am terrible in situations like this even in my own language, I stammered out a response of "I'm completely busy this weekend (which was true) but I will get back to you about a later time (which wasn't so true)." When I recounted the whole tale to a German girl in my class, she offered to call him back for me. She, pretending to be me, thanked him for the offer but replied that she/I wasn't interested. Oh, how I appreciate these blunt, take-charge Germans!

When I told the story to my host mom that night she replied, "Well it looks like you've found the man of your dreams. Or rather, the grandfather of your dreams!"

And thus ends my oh-so-fortunately short-lived French romance.