It’s a lovely day, I’m walking back from Shopi (the Auvers grocery store), taking what I call the ugly route (not because the route is ugly, but because I usually take it when I’m feeling ugly and don’t want anyone to see me).
Ahead is a man, somewhere in his 40’s strolling with a boy, around 10, who is walking his bike. I don’t pay attention until I get closer and notice the guy is looking at me and smiling, More importantly, he looks like Mel Gibson only better because he’s not Mel Gibson.
I love wearing sunglasses because you can stare without being obvious. (and they hide a multitude of sins which is particularly important, being on the ugly route and all). Fortunately, these are prescription sunglasses so I can actually see him while staring at him. The closer I get the better he looks. Especially when I see he isn’t wearing a wedding ring (yeah, I know that means nothing, but don’t burst my bubble).
They obviously live around here. The boy has his bike. People passing through don’t bring their bikes, unless they’re wearing spandex. Fortunately (and unfortunately), they’re not. Also, visitors and tourists take the main drag, not the ugly route which is better for a kid to ride a bike on. They seem to take this route often.
This is all the information I need to construct his entire background and fall in madly love with him. And I’m sure I can do it in the amount of time it will take for our paths to actually intersect. I’d say 30 seconds.
He’s smart, down to earth, funny, sweet but not a pushover and successful and talented at his chosen profession. His wife died tragically about five years ago. After she died, they moved to Paris for a year or so but moved here because it’s a better place for the boy to grow up and my husband likes living out here but having the city so close.
He’s been so busy raising my stepson and doing his lucrative yet creative job that he doesn’t have the time or inclination to bother with the dating scene. He figures if it happens, it happens. He’s well off but not wealthy and owns a really nice old stone house with blue shutters and a nice yard up the hill a little bit. There’s a perfect empty spot in his house for my armoire. He’s really good in bed. And he loves cats. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a person in such a short amount of time when you don’t actually speak to them.
We smile and say bonjour to each other and both continue on our ways. Oh yeah baby. I love him. But even in the throws of passion (which is a cross of a my little goat moment with the endorphin rush of a chocolate macaron), I have the presence of mind to notice that they’re turning into an apartment building nearby.
Hmmmm. I would have preferred my husband own a house, or at least a maison de ville, but I’m willing to overlook that (did I mention he looks like Mel Gibson?). But it does change the scenario a bit.
Unfortunately, his wife isn’t dead. It was a messy divorce (her fault, of course) and she got the house. He lives in an apartment building and gets his son for a month in the summer during his vacation. Okay, I can work with that.
It would also appear that he’s not as rich as I’d like. If he were, he’d have his own house, even if he did sink a lot of money into the one his wife got. It’s possible he’s not working in the highly lucrative creative field I’d like. Realistically he could be a carpenter or plumber. Well…that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, I suppose. The kitchen sink is a little clogged. Yeah, maybe that’s what I need, a man who can fix things. Forget this creative, lucrative stuff. He’s French, he doesn’t need it. Anyways, he’s a really talented plumber. And he’s still really good in bed. And smart and funny and all that other crap.
And based on the way he said “bonjour”, I know he loves me too.
Needless to say, I’m on cloud neuf. I can’t belief I found him. I’m already making plans. Tomorrow, instead of going to Chantilly and Senlis, I’m going to hang out in the parking lot near the ugly route. I have to move quickly if I expect our relationship to be advanced enough so when I have to return to the US we’ll have one of those dramatic teary scenes at the airport where he’ll beg me not to go and to stay here with him and his son, Jean Luc.
Okay, It’s been three days and now I’m getting a little pissed. He must have some sort of intimacy issues, because I have not seen him once since that first magical moment on the ugly route. Doesn’t he know I’ve got a schedule?
I’ve never taken so many walks. Or made so many separate trips to the grocery store/boucherie/boulangerie. I may be eating more because of him, but I’m definitely walking it off. I’ve even resorted to walking to the train station to stare at the schedules. I’ll probably be arrested for loitering. I’m starting to think my fiancé is taking me for granted. I was hoping that wouldn’t happen until after the wedding. Or at least until after he knew me.
It breaks my heart, but I’m thinking about ending it with him. I don’t really need a good looking guy. I can just take off my glasses and won’t know the difference. And given my needs, perhaps I’m better off finding a really, really old man with some property in Auvers.
I’m still hopeful that we can work things out. I know he’s a little gun shy after the divorce and what his wench ex-wife put him through, but it’s been five years for godsakes. He’s got to move on. If not, I’ll just have to assume he’s an emotional cripple incapable of commitment. And that’ll just make me love him more.
I’m trying to decide how to act next time I see him. Shall I act angry? Indifferent? Maybe I’ll just act like nothing happened.
Filed under: Auvers sur Oise, cats, kitties, les chats, Deep thoughts, travel, travel humor, Val d' Oise | Tagged: chasing men, falling in love, french men, mel gibson, mr. right, relationships, social life |