An Evening of French Chickens
by Linsey A. Daman
(St.Louis, MO, USA)
Myself, Linsey A. Daman
An Evening of French Chickens
By: Linsey A. Daman
As a young French woman, being asked on a date to appreciate Parisian cuisine sounded quite lovely and elegant. Promptly my date arrived to take us to a five-star European restaurant in the high-end district. The car ride was accompanied by classical symphony playing lightly in the background as we both chatted briefly in French. My heart just about skipped a beat as I was finally living the true upper class life I had always dreamed of as a little girl.
We arrived at the restaurant and my eyes started to shimmer with excitement as to what culinary delights we were about to experience not to mention the ambiance that was already set in motion. The door was opened for us by the greeter and in we walk to the worst first date of my life. It was an empty conference hall but I could hear subtle chatting off in the distance. I looked at my date with a confused look; he just seemed to smile and reassured me all would be fine. He led me down this empty corridor and around the bend to a conference room filled with elderly people speaking French.
Up to this point, I was under the assumption we were going out to dinner, not a conference. Well my date indicated that he needed the continuing education hours to keep his level of French active so he cancelled the dinner without telling me and brought me to this function instead. I was furious because for our first date I wanted to visit a chic restaurant and be alone so we could talk, not be in the middle of a French exposition and conference wrapped into one.
Excusing myself, I went to the bathroom to recollect my thoughts and tried to convince myself that this evening couldn’t get any worse even though he just bold-faced lied to me on our first date. How was the second date going to go? Would it be another work meeting for his continuing education hours or would it be a true date? I had many questions and frankly wanted to leave but also felt that maybe just maybe the conference would be enjoyable. Who knows maybe I'll end up learning something new after all. These are the moments alone in the bathroom when most women are wishing they had their own car or could drive away somehow.
Pulling myself back together, I made it out of the bathroom and back to the conference. He signed at his watch and told me the lecture would commence shortly. He indicated the lecture would be about French cuisine presented by a local culinary institute that specialized in European dishes.
Remember the golden rule that if he lies once there is a good chance he will lie again? Well the lecture was not about anything to do with culinary. It was about farm raised
chickens in the south of France. There were baby chicks on the screen and photographs of incubators made from European technology. Again, my hands were getting sweaty because after three hours of bird baths and chick feed I was just about finished with our barnyard field trip. I asked him why he led me down the wrong path and again his answer was he wanted to complete his French hours and it would be more productive than going to dinner.
He realized that I was quite annoyed at his evasive answers and offered to drive me home after the following reception. It was now getting quite late and my level of tolerance for his lies was starting to wear thin. I told him I wanted to go home so we got in the car and we didn’t talk in any language on the drive back.
Next thing I knew, the car was heading in a different direction than we came. What was this insane French man doing now? He wanted to visit the local grocery store to do a little evening shopping before calling it a night. I asked him if his errands could wait but he insisted the stores would close soon and it had to be done right now. I was not pleased but agreed because I wanted this evening over more than anything.
I tagged along on his last-minute shopping trip as we headed into the dairy section. He stood there for about fifteen minutes reading and reading all of the milk options. Again, I just wanted to leave. He finally selected the milk that was probably the same milk he selected every week and put it in the cart. However he missed the cart and dropped the gallon on my feet where it exploded on my feet, tights, dress and the rest of me.
Now I'm annoyed, tired, hungry and now milk-a-fied. Maybe I’m glad we skipped dinner, he probably would have knocked over the candle and caught the whole table on fire. This guy was beyond an idiot, he was just a catastrophe waiting to happen.
Finally back home on my porch he asked me if I had a good time. I pulled away and informed him that he lied on several counts, put his own greedy selfish plans first and then proceeded to spill an entire gallon on milk on me, which he wanted me to pay for nevertheless. I walked inside, slammed the door and never heard from him since.
So my dream of finding the perfect European man, "went with the birds" that night. But I'm still searching for the perfect one. – Linsey A. Daman
__________Oh Linsey, thanks for sharing. What an awful night for you. I hope you are able to laugh at this one in a few years! Your date will need to improve his style if he ever wants a 2nd date from any girl.