Things didn’t pan out in London, where I had to swipe 70 times before finding anyone worth the hangover.And I won’t even tell you about Puglia, where 300 guys named Marco shared pictures of their mammas and their privates I am not exaggerating when I say I matched with (almost) every single guy I swiped.
I told him about all the Frenchies inviting me on bike rides along the Seine, and picnics in Jardin des Tuileries, and that despite the stereotype that the French are classy nymphos, I found Parisians to be devoted, in a pure and gracious way, to the old-fashioned art of dating.
Before escaping to Europe, I experienced two weeks of Tinder in New York (so I am no expert), but it was much more laborious.
If he’s really not making an effort, however, he’s probably not worth pursuing.
I’d previously been used to a world where if you appeared ‘too keen’, you might lose the guy prematurely.
Oh how different things might have been if I’d known then what I know now… You flirt, perhaps touch each other a little, (or, in my case, he brushed my leg with his foot under the table once, I blush thinking he’s outrageously flirting with me only for him then to apologise for accidentally kicking me.) Anyway, the chemistry is going wild yet he hasn’t made the move and kissed you.
I certainly learnt the hard way what you must never say to a French man if you wish to declare your feelings (en francais, parce que c’est plus romantique comme ça…) So, you’re dating. I was once in this position with a man I had feelings for, I was cautiously optimistic that he felt the same way but neither of us was brave enough to admit our feelings.
By all means, get in there and book him in for another date.
It is natural (in France), for a woman to be completely honest and tell the man she wants to see him again.
And I am not some online-supermodel-goddess; I am 36 and looking for something serious, and pretty clear about that in my self-description. We split the bill, and I went looking for steak frites alone..