I got a call from Romain two weeks after meeting him at dinner at the home of some mutual friends. It was a total surprise, because I had forgotten all about him… but now that I thought of it, I recalled that he was an unassuming, poised, cultivated man.

I was all the more surprised when he asked me for my email address instead of just inviting me out for a drink. And we began to write to each other every day about our lives, future plans, passions, even the news.

I can’t deny that I got caught up in the game. I felt like the heroine of a novel, and my feelings for my suitor quickly went from a simmer to a boil.

Six months after we started writing to each other (yes, you read that right, six months), Romain invited me to spend an afternoon together—then another—and a third, and so on. My feelings were clear, and judging by the way he stared at me and smiled, he felt the same way.

And my feelings grew stronger every day. What was he waiting for? He had long since won me over, and it was high time to take things to the next level. I couldn’t take it anymore. The wait was driving me mad. It was becoming interminable…and ridiculous.

Hallelujah! After an umpteenth afternoon with Romain, he finally asked me over to his place for dinner. My moment of rapture was at hand!
And so we made a lovely dinner together, accompanied with a bottle of good wine. After my first glass, my face was bright red and my eyes shone like those of a puppy. I was tipsy. Throughout the dinner, my mind was on what would come after, and I waited for him to make his move.

No such luck. Nothing. He just stared at me with his big, brown eyes as if he had seen the Virgin Mary.

As soon as dinner was over, Romain started cleaning up the kitchen. Weird. I thought to myself that perhaps he was just shy and it was up to me to make the first move…after all, I had let him take the lead for six months, with his emails and countless dates. He went to the living room and lit a candle. Hmm…romantic ambiance…this was my moment. As I started to unbutton his shirt, he said “STOP!” and brought my advance to a screeching halt.
Picture a man gently pushing you away from him and holding two open hands in your face.
I was stunned, disappointed, embarrassed…I didn’t know what to feel. I sat dumfounded in the middle of the living room a few seconds, then bounded after him to his bedroom door. Romain had extricated himself from my clutches…to methodically take his shirt off and hang it on a hanger! His pants followed, and he slid into bed, his socks still on, hands behind his head, and looked at me as if to invite me to join him. I was dealing with an anal retentive. I managed to stammer out one word—“wine”—and flash an uncomfortable smile as I slipped out of the room, and this ridiculous situation, and his apartment…never to return.


Translated from french by Kenneth Barger 🙂