Bad news if he belongs to the tribe of baggy linen pants and ribbed turtlenecks. You’ll have the pleasure of explaining particularly American concepts such as Snooki, Shamu, Spring Break, Texas and Pizza Bites. He’ll comment on your outfits (positively) and discuss style in general more than an American boy might. He’s probably well-traveled considering that living in France allows you the advantage of hopping over to Italy or Spain for a weekend. Unless he magically learned English from watching episodes of : Angry/hungry, happiness/a penis. He’ll probably do all he can to give you respect and treat you like a princess.
I tend to find these confused moments to be hilarious and endearing.
But there I was, on our wedding night, consoling my husband and reassuring him that I didn't have any interest in his brother-in-law.
"I love him like that Bon Iver song I can't stop playing," I said.
But he also used his status for push for social change.
He will, however, call and text you regularly after he considers you his partner.After we had said goodbye to our guests and made our way to the honeymoon suite—a rundown apartment in Montmartre that smelled of mildew and stinky cheese—I proceeded to recap the evening.It was a wonderful wedding; everyone had a great time dancing until 3 a.m., a bottle of champagne in each hand."I love your brother-in-law," I said in between bites of bad French pizza that we somehow managed to find along Boulevard de Clichy in Pigalle. "I just adore the dickens out of him."Henri put down his slice and his eyes began to look damp, as if he were about to cry. " Henri's brother-in-law was old enough to be my father.Considering I had just complimented his family, I thought they would be tears of joy. " he asked in his thick French accent through a mix of sadness, anger, and betrayal. Heavy-set and intellectual, he had a house in the French Alps and a black Porsche; things some women might be wooed by, sure, but even if he weren't married to Henri's sister, I didn't want to leave Henri for him.These guys are your classic douchebags and are relatively easy to spot. The French haven’t really wrapped their minds around the concept of “dating” yet. They’ll probably refer to you as their “girlfriend” after the second date, say “I love you” some two weeks into it, and possibly propose to you before a year is up. There’s one technique I’ve experienced a few times that I call the washing machinewhen a guy sticks his entire tongue in your mouth, doesn’t move his lips, and swirls his tongue around in big, circular motions. But they’re also not afraid to drink a Cosmopolitan in public. Obvious bonus: an accent so hot that they can read the small print on a beer bottle and make it sound sexy. A French man’s personal style is very uniform-y, and he tends to have a closet filled with variations on the same outfit.