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When I reached the airport, a wave of sadness hit me hard. After I collected my ticket and checked my luggage, I spotted a Ladurée macaron kiosk in the terminal and decided to order some breakfast.
“J'aimerais bien un macaron café, s'il-vous-plaît,” I told the woman behind the counter – I'd like a coffee macaron, please.
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It all might sound arse about tit to the way it’s supposed to work in English-speaking countries, but I understand the reasoning too.
First, almost everything you do here for leisure is mano-el-mano (or womano), and in strict English terms, would meet the definition of a date: get lost in a museum, get lost in the Marais, be told ‘to get lost’ when you move a stool on a bar terrasse, etc.
”) Casual hook-ups felt foreign to me, so I never bothered downloading the app. Colloquial French might as well just be re-classified as a form of English, for all the times I heard, “c'est cool!
But boredom finally got the best of me one day last winter, so I decided to give Tinder a try. I noticed that because I didn't actually plan on meeting any of these men, I didn't care about any of the shallow details: what they looked like, how tall they were, what they did for a living, whether they lived in a neighborhood on my Metro line. ” or “c'est super.” When you want to praise something as the best, I learned, you can say, “c'est top.” (No exclamation point. Think Parisian.) One of my friends met her boyfriend on Tinder, and I often hung out with his group of friends.
My French was okay -– I had taken seven years of French classes in middle school and high school, but none at all in college, and so I was rusty. If I ended up liking a guy I met on Tinder enough to meet him in person, fine, but that wasn't my M. Instead, I could chat with guys in French while waiting for the Metro or in line at the grocery store and finesse my language skills all at once. I updated my bio to “Une americaine à Paris,” and let the Tindering begin. When I sent out a stiff, formal, “Qu'est-ce qu'il passe? ”), a guy fired back an immediate, “quesquil spasse lol.” (“wassup lol.”) The interjection “dac” mystified me at first until I realized it was an abbreviation for “d'accord,” or “okay.” If I hadn't stumbled across it on Tinder, how else would I have ever learned that?
I wasn't alone in my use of talkative Tinder men for the sole goal of advancing my French skills.
If second sex follows the first, so begins a full-blown relationship.
And if not, well, you’re bound to awkwardly run into them within six months on the Metro, and you can try your luck again.
“He looks like he's on a yacht,” I told my sister about one guy I had swiped right to. They taught me to replace my American “like”s and “you know”s with French “ben”s and “genre”s so I could sound more authentically French.