In which Physicsgirl meets Pepé le Pew*

*without the smelly skunk part

At Pousse au Crime last night:

I'm dancing with some friends to French (and a few English) pop songs -- not swing dancing, but freestyle, as it were. In a circle, as one does. There are a lot of people in the bar. Suddenly, there is a guy in front of me. He has taken me by the hands and is dancing between me and the people I came with, effectively cutting me from the herd. It was very neatly done. Sheep dogs could learn something from him.

   So what do you do in Paris?

   Right now, I'm dancing.

   That's great!

(I look over at Darlene, who is watching this with a look of "Do you need help?" mixed with much amusement. I'm also pretty amused. He's trying to move me away now, but with the number of people in the bar, he doesn't get far.)

   Actually, I'm dancing with my friends. Over there.

   That's okay.

(I try to gently let go and turn back to my friends. He persists and I spend the next few minutes keeping his hands away from my hips. He says something I don't quite catch because it's loud and he's speaking rather quickly.)

   I'm sorry, my French is so-so. What did you say?

   You speak English? (in English)

   Yes, but I do speak French. I just didn't get what you said... (in French)

   Where are you from? (in English)

   Canada.

   I don't care. No, where are you from?**

Et c'est fini. I couldn't possibly continue dancing with someone who didn't believe I'm Canadian! (Maybe I should get that flag after all!) Plus, you know, effective as the hands-on approach was, I like a little conversation before. I'm funny that way.



**I'm pretty sure he just misunderstood me. But wow, not shy these Frenchmen.