It’s now been 4 months and two days since we said ‘See ya, Bitch,’ to the 29 years of life we created, packed up a bag of full of toiletries and clean undies, and headed to the Riveria. My French abacus marks that date as Friday, October 13.
Friday the 13th.
Might explain my Valentine’s Day dinner with 12 burly German dudes. Actually, one of them was a woman. Like there’s a difference. Happy VD, by the way.
Anyway, four months. It got me reflecting. Kinda like an introspection. Like, why the hell haven’t I hired a chambermaid yet? And why don’t I have any furniture for her to clean? Or a car for her to wax? Or a kitchen for her to cook in? And if she was here, why haven’t I taken her to Prague? Or Copenhagen or Croatia?
And then I thought, based on the evidence presented above, that I really haven’t accomplished anything in the last four months. Sure, I’ve dusted. Even learnt how to bake a pizza in my grill that’s still sitting atop a sagging, cardboard box. Milestones only you could dream of. But in the grand scheme of things, I haven’t really accomplished anything. And, call me 'French,' but frankly, I’m getting tired of having to do shit for myself.
Then, like an Ike Turner fist of furry, it hit me. I’m doing this whole thing backwards. You see, France, just like any other third world, Eastern European country, breeds millions of incredible, eager women, many of whom I see on the bus each day, who are looking for a bright, young, intelligent guy like me to take care of and buy furniture for. ‘Cause here this whole time I was worried about meeting someone and bringing her home, living in fear of embarrassment for not having anything to sit on or cook a rooster in.
I need the woman first. Then, let her spend my money. ‘Cause isn’t that what relationships with Eastern European women are all about?
We may never know. Also, I got no monies.
Friday the 13th.
Might explain my Valentine’s Day dinner with 12 burly German dudes. Actually, one of them was a woman. Like there’s a difference. Happy VD, by the way.
Anyway, four months. It got me reflecting. Kinda like an introspection. Like, why the hell haven’t I hired a chambermaid yet? And why don’t I have any furniture for her to clean? Or a car for her to wax? Or a kitchen for her to cook in? And if she was here, why haven’t I taken her to Prague? Or Copenhagen or Croatia?
And then I thought, based on the evidence presented above, that I really haven’t accomplished anything in the last four months. Sure, I’ve dusted. Even learnt how to bake a pizza in my grill that’s still sitting atop a sagging, cardboard box. Milestones only you could dream of. But in the grand scheme of things, I haven’t really accomplished anything. And, call me 'French,' but frankly, I’m getting tired of having to do shit for myself.
Then, like an Ike Turner fist of furry, it hit me. I’m doing this whole thing backwards. You see, France, just like any other third world, Eastern European country, breeds millions of incredible, eager women, many of whom I see on the bus each day, who are looking for a bright, young, intelligent guy like me to take care of and buy furniture for. ‘Cause here this whole time I was worried about meeting someone and bringing her home, living in fear of embarrassment for not having anything to sit on or cook a rooster in.
I need the woman first. Then, let her spend my money. ‘Cause isn’t that what relationships with Eastern European women are all about?
We may never know. Also, I got no monies.
