As a quick weather report has become my habitual intro to each post (what could be more British?!) I would hate to break the habit of a lifetime. . . So. . . When I left my homestead on Monday morning the snow had just begun to fall. I got terribly excited and genuinely skipped nearly all the way across the centre-ville to meet the teacher fellow that drives me to school. The downside to this weather is that it is UTTERLY FREEZING so I can only leave my flat wearing about 14 layers and even contemplated climbing inside the photocopier this morning as it's the only thing that emits heat in Mamers.
ANYWAY, let's move onto more pressing issues. Since returning to singledom after nearly 3 years of being unmoved by charming smiles, fabulous hair and boyish good looks - unless those of the former boyf - I have suddenly been forced to ponder my place in society as a femme célibataire.
My dating guru, Jennifer Hopkins, connoisseur of fine wine and finer men, has imparted a genius analogy to me. She says simply that men are like handbags. That when you buy your first fabulous handbag, you imagine it will last forever, that no other could look as wonderful on your arm. You may occasionally find yourself window shopping; having a shifty; appreciating that the new Kate Moss range for Longchamp has just come out in a rather delicious shade of burgundy that would go with your new coat LIKE A DREAM. But you always put it back and leave the shop remembering how much you love the one you have. But when you're single, you can effectively whip out your bank card and go mental. . . Maybe it's better that I've realised now that bags (slash love) don't always last forever. Modern statistics RE: divorce rates seem to confirm this, but I really do believe that this is the fault of today's generation, who are not willing to make an investment, or the right decisions regarding who's worth that investment.
For me, this relies a lot on first impressions, and how easily people can be fooled by them, misjudge them, or build a relationship based on them. I've been thinking about this a fair bit recently mainly because of how crazily hard it is to make any worthwhile impression at all in a foreign language.
It's all about getting the tone right, the level of colloquialism right, the interpretation and response right. So often I have these terribly awkward moments when I realise I've been smiling like a moron while someone's telling me their dog just died, or blindly agreeing when I've actually just been asked my thoughts on the state of immigration. At best I must appear rather rude, at worst, as thick as shit. It's a very humbling experience being almost continually humiliated by your own hand, but nevertheless, a great lesson to learn that if you ever have to repeatedly state "ne t'inquiète pas, je suis pas folle" (Don't worry, I'm not mad), you're not making the smoothest first impression and should probably cut your losses and simply walk away. Most of my personality seems to be completely lost in translation; dampened by a monotonal plod through a labyrinth of unknown verbs, fiddly prepositions and nonsensical tense changes. Thus recently, I've actually been conversing with French youth and making more efforts to meet new people. It's all been very exciting. I've now been invited to go skiing with some real French people, and have also spent more than one awkward evening in the company of my creepy French neighbour, all in the name of realising a true French experience.
It seems though, that if you make a bad first impression in terms of work, friendship or romance, it is hard to go back on it. There is so much pressure on us all nowadays in a world where people will judge you after a few clicks on your Facebook page, employers will decide if they want to hire you in an average of 10 seconds and I even noted, on reading the literary classic, Cosmopolitan, that now our magazines are telling women all about men's opinions concerning our styles, make-up and even the way we act in public and on first dates. WHY ARE WE ( SLASH JUST ME) SPENDING HOURS READING THIS RUBBISH AS IF WE'RE CRAVING THIS MASCULINE APPROVAL. And what happens when we first meet people that has the potential to cause so much trouble? We are all rather quick to judge in such situations but are we necessarily to blame for our actions? The brain is on natural overdrive: taking a snapshot of choice of greeting, body language, tone of voice and even odour. . . And I think these moments will tell you a lot about someone's character, even if they shock you later.
Prehistoric man needed this quick judgement for survival on a day to day basis, and today I still believe it's a necessity but because in our modern world where there is so much to do and see, who wants to waste their precious time with someone who turns out to be a massive twat? Life's too bleeding short.
But if it's really biology that's controlling us, can we really be blamed for our reactions? Like when attractive, young men talk to us on trains and we giggle so much AN ACTUAL SNORT COMES OUT and then get our words so insanely muddled that we sound like Yoda after a few Breezers. I mean, just as a hypothetical situation. . . I think I'm just in desperate need of manning up and gaining the right sort of confidence that comes hand in hand with finding oneself 'out there' again so as to avoid any more of these "I carried a watermelon" type moments.
As a verdict, it seems to be the way of the world today that people are expected to sell themselves in every aspect of life in order to get past the 'audition' stages, whether you're on a date, at a job interview, or having a chinwag in a queue for a sandwich. We all have layers, and trust issues, and history, and we're all looking for someone to share it with. So with such little time to spare in our day to day schedules ( I'm talking in general terms and am not implying that working 12 hours a week and drinking wine the other 156 constitutes a full diary) we should always be putting our best foot forward.
Anyway, I'm off to find Jenni and go shopping. Ironically the straps are breaking on my Claudia Canova and I'm in the market for a new handbag...
Much love and whatnot, H x
