So I’ve been sparing you all the ridiculous frenchie male experiences. I dare not mock the brave. It must be on the list for bad karmic revenge. But I can’t help it any longer. These last few have been note worthy. I don’t mean this to gloat. I don’t feel any more special than the rest…but it’s been part of the experience and that is what I aim to bring to you.
Yesterday’s #3: Walking home and a young guy is walking in a group of 3. He’s on the far right coming up in the opposite direction. Just as he get’s within arms reach he steps right in front of me and reaches out both arms in bear hug position. Manages to wrap his arms around me and tries to plant one on my cheek as I duck and dive. I keep walking and he stands still begging God only knows what in French.
Today’s #1: Walking…I hear a man yelling as he runs up behind me “Mademoiselle...Mademoiselle” me in English “Sorry, I don’t speak French”. Him, “Ooooo wonderful you are American. I don’t like American woman. They are too big, only Asian and French. But you, you are big in only the right places (as he waves both hands in front of his chest). You know. I hope I’ve not offended you.”
Today’s #3: Walking…always walking, a young man is all of a sudden walking next to me, out of breath. He says something in French. Me, again “Sorry, I don’t speak French”. Him, “I speak English. I just want you to know that I was with my friends and I saw you and you took my breath away and so I left them.”
While I don’t condon the first two approaches, I do think they all deserve some credit for going for it. Most of the 2 plus a day’s have been some tamer variation of #3. This “Holla’ at a sister” thing must work out sometimes and at least they know they gave it a shot. That’s admirable. At first it freaked me out and I was certain they were all crazed stalker rapist. But no…they are just regular people not afraid to put themselves out there. In America, it’s been my experience that men are so afraid of rejection that a woman has to pretty much shoot a flare gun for them to get the point that it’s okay to approach. Either that or just a cocky contrived pick up line. Que Sera, Sera.
Now to the meat of it. I took a trip to China Town today or shall I say Vietnam town. I’ve never seen more Vietnamese restaurants ever. Blocks and Blocks and block with occasional Chinese and Asian blend spots. It was a marvel to my eye’s and nose. I have a moderate to dangerous Pho obsession (Vietnamese staple food pronounced Pha like Fa-la-la-la-la). I love it so much that even the sight of the word makes my mouth water on command like Pavlov’s dog. I decided that it makes me feel so good that I took a pictures of each one for the first 3 blocks. A Pho Photography montage, if you will. Yes. I am a bit crazy but that’s why you love me. I found the first one without a single non-Vietnamese person inside and proceeded to enjoy an absolutely fantastic meal. Kat- I wish you were here with me. I nearly shed a tear. Most of the dishes are comprised of Vermicelli rice noodles which are usually just a vessel for the rest of the yumminess. But these noodles where flavorful, like freshly cooked rice without the sweetness. Perfection. I then walked 3 miles back to feel better about the indulgence.
From there to finish of the last and final wing of Le Louvre. Toured Napoleon’s apartment and saw his grand but extra short bed that he had especially made. Hilarious! And the last of the Crown Jewels. Closed the place down and took home the cozy tingles of absolute accomplishment. 
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