Met myself a man... unfortunately

All I've been thinking about the past week is my time in France... and how I can't wait to go back. I've even started thinking in French again.

That's just my paradise, and I long for it. In the rain and smog of humid Boston days gets me down, I remember how beautiful everything was there - always. When I hang out with friends, I remember how much fun it was meeting new people from around the world When work stresses me out, I remember how everything in Camarat is carefree. And when I'm feeling lonely, I think about how almost every guy I met there - for better or worse - made me feel like I was an amazing woman. (It was the accent, I'm sure of it.)

I was absorbed in a day dream about St. Tropez (as usual) while at the Harvard Yard with Tequila. She chased the squirrels, played with the little dogs, and then quickly moved on to the big border collie that arrived with some dweeby looking asian kid. After about twenty minutes of letting them just sniff each other and hang out, he asked me what kind of dog she was.

"She's a golden, but I took her home from France - which is why she looks so different."

"Oh really?" He looked immediately interested. "Are you French?"

I pretend to be sometimes. I mean, "No, but my family is."

"So you were visiting when you got her?"

Haha, kind of... more like an extended stay. "I was there for about six months, staying in the family house and hanging out with all the family who came through."

"Where were you?"

I figured Camarat was no place he had ever heard of. Many people don't even know where St. Tropez is. So I generalized: "The south."

"Really, where?"

His interest took me off guard. "Um, outside St. Tropez."

"Really?" he started laughing. "I just came home from St. Tropez a few days ago!"

Turns out, he was actually vacationing with his family in Gassin. He made it to L'Esquinade, Millesum, and a couple of the bars I used to haunt - but not to the Sube or Le P'tit Club. He even took the walk along the paths of the beaches of Pampelonne to the lighthouse - probably passing right by
le Chene en Croix. We talked for another twenty minutes or so... about the market, about Ramatuelle, about les Voiles de St. Tropez and everything else I love about that place. And then I did something silly.

I gave him my number.

Let me make something clear: I was in no way at all in any shape or form attracted to this kid. But what's even funnier is that - from a man's prospective - I was probably hitting on him. He just got me so wrapped about about Camarat, I didn't realize what I was doing. Totally honestly, I asked "Do you have any pictures from your trip?"

Obviously he did. After that line, he probably figured I was throwing myself on him. "Sure, you want to see them?"

"Yes!" It didn't dawn on me that this was 'flirting.' (Am I that out of practice?) "I wonder if you really did pass the house?!"

"Great, sure! We'll take a look at them together sometime. I'll give you a call." And then came the dead giveaway that made me realize I was in trouble: "What's your number?"

Oh and don't worry - I gave it to him.

Hah.

Walked right into that one, didn't I? Now I've got to figure out how to dodge this man who I've unintentionally led on. Suggestions?