Relationships in Paris run on coincidences, run-ins, and screwball scenarios. It’s perhaps a cliche, and you might actually feel like you’re living in a comedic French movie, but the love triangle (or just crazy romantic entanglements in general) is ever-present. Between my girlfriends and me, there’s always something fascinating happening. Randomly, someone’s off in Morocco for a “platonic” weekend with their ex’s friend, another one is breaking up with her 55-year-old boyfriend and going on a date with a politician next week, or the guy someone met in a bar last week won’t stop sending the most over-the-top lovesick texts.
As for me, it seems there’s been a general stream of “love interests” and dates and “potentials,” but nothing’s ever quite been the whirlwind romance you’d expect from Parisian living. Until now. Keep reading »
Nevermind how I found myself at the French website for Tampax. What’s more crazy is what I found there: a marketing campaign recruiting Tampax tampon users to vie for a spot as president of the “Max Le Tampax” Fan Club. Why anyone in their right mind would want to be the president of a club dedicated to the art of menstruation is beyond me. Worse, I can’t imagine the ad agency reps behind this campaign were in any state of mental stability when they created this Max character—a young, overly dramatic dude (dare I even say teenager?) dressed in a giant yellow tampon costume …
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For all women, there are universal female experiences that rank inevitably high on the embarrassment scale. Try, for example:
- “Price check. Can I get a price check on a box of Ultra Heavy Flow Tampax tampons?”
- “Uh, babe, did you just queef?”
- “I can see your days of the week underwear through that skirt, and just so you know, it’s not Thursday.”
Try having a female problem in a foreign country and you’ll multiply any of your shame times 10 … Keep reading »
My friend Megan from the States is in town for a few days, and yesterday we spent a lazy Sunday walking up and down the Seine, making fun of French joggers in ridiculous running gear and checking out the guys who passed us by.
“Wow, Paris definitely has some attractive men,” she noted as a particularly dashing gentleman in a perfectly tailored suit passed by us.
“Indeed, it does,” I agreed. We walked on a bit more, taking in the sights.
“Oh man,” she said. “Like that guy that we just passed, did you see him? So. Hot.”
“What? Where? No.”
“How could you not see him? He was looking straight at us.”
“Leo, I think you have a bit of a perception problem. You really don’t seem to catch on when guys are checking you out.”
“I do too! I just don’t try to make anything too obvious, you know?” Keep reading »