Dating in america
the last date I had in Paris, we spent the day strolling along the Seine on a sunny summer day.
In France, you don’t ask someone to be your girlfriend or boyfriend unless you’re in kindergarten.
In response, I got the reassuring “No worries—I’m not a rapist” and a sarcastic “You’re such a nun.”For a (long) minute, I regretted downloading Tinder.
This unashamed sexual pressure was completely new and weird.
While we were talking, we ran into a few misunderstandings. That’s taller than most of the women in France.” Imagine my surprise when I found out that it meant “baby” and not “You’re a dwarf.”Obviously, the date wasn’t a huge success. After trying on a couple of shoes, as we say, a couple of men fit better, but things didn’t necessarily become less challenging.
As I went to order a beer, he stopped me and said, “Wait, shorty.” To me, this sounded like the worst insult. I couldn’t help myself from overthinking and panicking a bit after a few months of dating someone here—something I never did in France. Here I’m afraid of discovering that after six months of seeing someone, we aren’t actually dating but just messing around.