Yesterday I abandoned my husband in favour of a Frenchman. And while you might be pausing to gasp at my cavalier approach to marriage, love him though I might, after 25 years the “Je ne sais quoi” of a Frenchman has a certain allure compared to all the charms and foibles I have come to know and ” love” so well of my current husband.
Yesterday the opportunity suddenly presented itself, and I might say a man very high up in french society gave me a helping hand to land a Frenchman and perhaps he will fulfill all my wildest dreams of what the perfect man is all about.
Firstly let’s talk style! French men are reassuringly chic, elegant and a great many of theme are dashingly tall. Not for them the Anglo Saxon scruffy t-shirts and thigh- pocketed shorts filled with the kitchen sink of essential items, spanners, hammers, keys, bank-cards, a newspaper, a water bottle and a tube of polo mints just in case they find themselves suddenly deposited in the middle of nowhere and need survival equipment to get them though to the following day,
Frenchmen are so chic and organized that the polo mints are already waiting at the arrival destination along with perhaps a small understated bouquet of flowers, and a bottle of wine on ice, and any surplus extras are carried along in a chic leather “man-bag”, which only french men seem to be able to carry off with any style. Somehow french men seem to look cool and uncreased even on the hottest day, and though the famous pocketed shorts are in all the stores, but I’ve never seen any of them wear them, or perhaps the pockets simply don’t stand out because french men have been raised to know that filling these pockets with half a survival kit “n’est pas de rigueur.”
Husband Britannique commented to me the other day, when walking though town in un- pocketed shorts that people were staring at him- well yes, I said, with those shorts we can see your legs, and we woman appreciate ” des jolis jambes” just like men!
French men are serious about their work. Leaving home as I do frequently just after 6am, I am often surprised to see just how many cars are on the road and how many are off to work, particularly heading towards Paris, but even those who work locally are often at work by 8. While they put their all into the working day with impressive diligence, they put as much effort into their free time. It’s not for nothing that the french have so many national holidays and these are organized and planned long in advance. In the weeks preceding the long weekends and family holidays french people know exactly where they are going, houses are rented by the sea, kids can be deposited with the extended family allowing for a “weekend à deux”, or all the parents, cousins and grandparents get together for a “moment familial”, and the destination is the topic of conversation long in advance with friends and colleagues. For if the french enjoy talking about one thing, it’s “terroir”, the region and the gastronomy that goes with it. A perfect weekend revolves around companionship, beautiful scenery and good foods and wine – and most importantly getting there without a bouchon- hours in the traffic!
And finally of course the language! Who wouldn’t buckle at the knees at the sound of a few flattering words whispered into the ear in perfect french! French men are not shy of a few well intentioned romantic gestures, and seem to reputedly have far less difficulty communicating them compared to their Anglo-saxon counterparts. “Je t’aime” sounds so much more wonderful than “I love you”!
So who was it who introduced me to my new Frenchman? None other than the department of Immigration who have been keeping a watchful eye on me for the last two years. They’d had me and Husband Britannique into their offices several times over the past months, austensibly to check that we were entirely compatible. In a “Green Card” moment they’d invited us in separately to the ” bureau” to see if Husband Britannique’s answers corresponded with mine. Needless to say he failed on the face-cream! Clearly they came to the conclusion after a few more months thought that I’d be better off with a Frenchman. I am very excited about this new “je ne sais quoi” and wonder how it will turn out.
And so in my letterbox yesterday morning a letter was waiting from the french Immigration office stating incredibly that my Mr had become a Monsieur, and I was now married to a Frenchman!
I am hoping that this new man will be everything I am dreaming of.
It is understandably a little perturbing that the French Immigration office has also decided that my Husband Britannique would be better off with a french wife.
Ooh la la la!