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The French men have invaded Oxford!
..except I don't think they were French. Not English, either, or at least not originally, but not French.
That aside, they were being sleazy French men.
Saturday, I was sitting having coffee with a friend, and a guy sitting at a nearby table came up to me and said:
"I just wanted to tell you you look fabulous"
"Er, thank you" (thinking, oh god, creep, and watching my friend being shocked/horrified/cracking up)
"May I join you?"
"Er, no, sorry, we're discussing rather private things, sorry"
"OH. Well, may I buy you another coffee?"
"No, I'm fine thanks"
"Oh. Well, I hope you have a good day, and you do look fabulous"
... and he left, and we cracked up.
Today, when I was walking back from the library up High Street, a guy ran after me. The conversation was largely similar, except without the coffee and with handing me an invite to a bible study group and asking if he could "get to know me as a friend". I was a bit more of a stuck record ("I'm sorry, I'm very busy") with this one, but he, like the other one, left me alone after a couple of minutes.
After a year of much worse in Paris, I'm really not that bothered. But why the hell are they all gonig after me? There were leggy blondes in miniskirts waiting to cross the road, why not them (rather than me in battered leather jacket, soft crumply boots, and a black/grey dress)?
That aside, they were being sleazy French men.
Saturday, I was sitting having coffee with a friend, and a guy sitting at a nearby table came up to me and said:
"I just wanted to tell you you look fabulous"
"Er, thank you" (thinking, oh god, creep, and watching my friend being shocked/horrified/cracking up)
"May I join you?"
"Er, no, sorry, we're discussing rather private things, sorry"
"OH. Well, may I buy you another coffee?"
"No, I'm fine thanks"
"Oh. Well, I hope you have a good day, and you do look fabulous"
... and he left, and we cracked up.
Today, when I was walking back from the library up High Street, a guy ran after me. The conversation was largely similar, except without the coffee and with handing me an invite to a bible study group and asking if he could "get to know me as a friend". I was a bit more of a stuck record ("I'm sorry, I'm very busy") with this one, but he, like the other one, left me alone after a couple of minutes.
After a year of much worse in Paris, I'm really not that bothered. But why the hell are they all gonig after me? There were leggy blondes in miniskirts waiting to cross the road, why not them (rather than me in battered leather jacket, soft crumply boots, and a black/grey dress)?
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Because you look fabulous :-)
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... As far as having French men leching at you can be win. Yarr.
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Hee. Godamnit, and I was going for scary. Oh well.