A supposedly fun thing that I'll never do again?
Take a 11 hour flight sitting next to a ceaseless PDA couple. I get it. Really--You're young, you're non-conformist, you want me to know that lesbian is the new black. No problem. But on an extremely long flight with extremely little personal space, the least you could do is wash your dreadlocks and put on a little antiperspirant.
22 hours, two failed naps, and one double-espresso later, I finally made it to Lyon, via a seemingly endless Amsterdam layover.
Sunshine and Starbucks could only keep me grounded in California for so long. I became nostalgic for the French. For the city life. For the language....and obviously, flan. But even more so, for a certain someone. A certain French someone. Did I mention I've been dating a French man? There, I said it.
Let's back up.
Once upon a May 2010 ago, I met this French someone. However, after ending a long distance relationship a few months earlier and being the quintessential commitment phobe that I can be, I was timid to start something new. But along he came promising to never have dreadlocks and to always wear antiperspirant, and so I thought, why not just one date?!
And well, one date turned into two and three, which progressed and turned into a year. The truth is simple: he's a man who makes me laugh, treats me well and as a result, I missed home, less. He speaks four languages, eats the same two chocolate croissants for breakfast every morning, and has a penchant for ironing. He loves scuba diving, soccer and me. The language barrier is difficult at times, but he has a patient soul, a swoon-worthy 5 o'clock shadow and a kiss that makes my knees weak. He didn't give up on me with my indecisiveness; Instead, he stuck around, planned weekends away and romantic dinners in French towns I had never seen. He does, however, critique my inability to sing, but in return, I remind him that he can't pronounce his "H", because well, he's French. "It's not an ug; it's a hug!"
Somewhere between living far from my comfort zone, and his ability to make me feel so comfortable, I let the proverbial guard down and a love story transformed. Except that for a girl that's absolutely not French, and a boy who is sometimes too French, that love story transformed into long distance. That's what brought me back to France for two weeks.
And you were thinking it was because I missed being an Au Pair.
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