Ahoy Sailor!

First, I must warn you, my dear readers, that I'm a little bit tipsy. Yes, it is only 1:30 in the afternoon, but today we celebrate the release of the New Beaujolais, and all of France simply must have a taste! The salles des profs, the teachers lounge, is now full of slightly sodden teaching staff. Best of luck to those with afternoon classes!

That said, you will all be glad to know that I have finally met a sailor. We met entirely "par hasard" on the train on Friday afternoon when I was on my way home from school and he was heading to Rouen, his hometown, where he spends his weekends. We started chatting, and exchanged numbers, and after a several tricky phone conversations we managed to arrange a date for last night. We met in Toulon, walked around a bit along the marina, and then went to see a movie. It was fun to have the chance to really talk with and get to know an "authentic" French person, and I was glad to know that we felt about the same about the people in Toulon. According to my sailor friend, a non-native of the south of France, the people here are "superficiel". Toute à fait. But, I regret to inform my readership that I was not easily wooed by his french charms. As an American girl raised to believe that real men are meant to be sensible, strong, and only affectionate in a subtly reserved sort of way, I was a bit put-off by my french sailor's advances. I can understand, for example, that holding hands while walking along a pier is in theory romantic, but in practice holding hands is only something I do with my mom. I love my mom, but not like that. And, at other times, the sailor's moves just seemed a bit cliché. At a particularly tense moment during our film, I shuddered, and the sailor quickly made a grab for my shoulder, saying, "you are not too scared?" Seriously, I'm a big girl, I don't need to be protected from violent images in films. And, I absolutely had to draw the line when he asked if he could rest his head on my shoulder during the movie. I like my personal space, and I don't need to share it with someone I only just met. But, at least he asked. So, in the end, I told my sweet french sailor that I had a boyfriend in the United States. If anyone asks, he is six foot two, a cattle rancher and rodeo king, and must eat at McDonalds twice a day just to sustain his strength. I think I shall call him "Steve". I look forward to seeing my Steve in the spring. He'll be the only man in a ten gallon hat in all of France!

God Bless America, and all her sons!