Wednesday, November 25, 2020


As we live in the age of abundance, I was watching Netflix during my break at work. The show I’m currently binging is the ten-episode Emily In Paris. It’s a terribly idealistic show, as is the usual for things I watch. Emily is flirting with a (really cute) boy, he is introducing her to champagne and she downs it all in one. He tells her to go slow because you’re supposed to savor it. Later, they end up in bed (because obviously) and she in turn tells him to go slow, because you’re supposed to savor it. At this point of time, I squeal really loudly, warranting my friend Sarah to ask why I’m so excited, so I tell her. She has finished watching the whole show, and she loved it too. I think my colleagues think I’m a sex-crazed maniac, which let’s be real, is true. And it’s completely fine. Right???? So anyway. After the encounter, the really cute boy’s mother finds out that Emily has slept with him, and it’s revealed that he is seventeen years old!!!! Emily is mortified when his mother wants to speak with her in private, but it turns out the mother is asking if her son is a good lover. It seems to be important to her that her son is good in bed, because to be honest, it truly is important. The French are insane! 

At this point in life, Sarah has informed me she is rewatching the show because she’s highly entertained by how amused I am at it. Call me an influencer, y’allllll. Also, a couple minutes ago, we were talking about French men and Sarah reminded me of the French man that ruined all French men for me. I have told this to everyone as my Tinder nightmare story. So one time, years ago, I was on a Tinder hookup sprint, because fuck that, you only live once, right? So I went to the hotel room of this guy who was in Singapore to renew his visa from Bali or whatever, and his friend had just left the room. So we do the deed in, like I swear to God, ten minutes. I thought we’d hang out and watch TV, but he’s in and out (of me) and getting dressed for dinner. I was a little stunned, so I look at him, he looks at me, and he asks “what are you doing? Are you waiting for money?” and I burned up in my face. And that is the story of why French men are the literal worst!!!!!!!!! Why do men always think women want their money that they don’t even have???? I can’t roll my eyes back any further in my head. In what universe would I hook up with a person on Tinder for money? Do I look like I have the time? I literally have no time. I find people on Tinder for one thing, and men can’t even give me that one thing. Geez, men need to stop flattering themselves.

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