"French" Kiss

One of the most important things to me in the history of the world ever is ridiculousness... I attempt to find elements of it in my life on a daily basis. From piracy and glimmer ponies to wizards and "glom soft " fairies, I revel in all things absurd. In my opinion, ridiculousness offers a greater high than any drug I have ever experienced (not that I have experienced many, to be sure). The only thing that surpasses such a feeling is love. Though perhaps comparing the two is like trying to qualify the superiority between unicorns and pegasi... Both are equally ethereal in their own special ways. Not that ridiculousness needs to only involve fantasy nonsense. Simple daily events can result in stunning silliness. For example, last night I had my first real French flirtation, and while being hit on by this swarthy rogue, I messaged my sister-in-law the following gem... "I think I just flirted with a Frenchman while "We Are The World" was playing in the background." I don't think I could have asked for a more sublime contrast than flirting in French in a small town in the south of France while the likes of Cyndi Lauper and other great 80s icons were singing their heart out in the name of universal angst... Brilliance...

And now onto the social implications... On the plus side, I was very proud to have conducted almost the entire evening's exchange in French. I have rarely been able to practice French, even when I was in Paris last time, because all of my French friends speak English better than I speak French. The key is to find someone with little to no English skills so that you are forced to work and stretch and recall your real knowledge. The one negative thing about trying to flirt in French? It is much harder to decipher subterfuge. However, no matter what the language, men should not overlook the importance of feminine intuition. Though I could not immediately grasp what this man seemed to be lying about (with the help of his cousin, no less), I definitely knew there was a little something skeezy in the air. I still made out with him, of course. I mean, give me a glass of wine and I am mainly an idiot. But obviously this was before I unearthed his true douchebaggery. Ultimately, I think I solved the mystery and figured out that he has a wife, a child, and seemed to be under the bizarre misapprehension that I have a boyfriend in Paris and we were therefore on equally immoral ground... Fascinating...

I have known microscopically few men in my life who have made me feel real honesty and trust that they genuinely care for me. By the end of the evening, I was left with an aching sense of longing for this rare creature. Still, one cannot regret the pure ridiculousness of flirtation and a "French" kiss.