Vous Êtes Très Classe!

It was only a matter of time before my life was again flooded with awkwardness. The dialogue that follows is mostly translated from the original French...

I was in a bit of a rush Friday afternoon as I was a little bit late to meet some family friends on the left bank. We had plans later to go to the Moulin Rouge, so I had put on a cute outfit and was in the midst of a fast walk complete with an appropriate ipod soundtrack when I man in a tight argyle sweater flagged me down. He looked somewhat lost, and being that I am sometimes helpful to my own detriment, I stopped to aid him. He asked me in fast French if I was familiar with the Marais (an area in Paris). When I told him I was, he began what I can only describe as a frantic soliloquy describing his involvement in a literary festival to support homosexual writers. He then asked me where I was from as I clearly understood only about 85 per cent of what he had just said. I told him I was Italian (which I've taken to doing to avoid all the preconceived notions that inevitably accompany the American label). He gave me a book, a love story about two men in Paris, and thanked me for being friendly. He then made the following statement: "French women are so cold, you know? Sluts. They're all sluts." He then asked me for money for the book, "or a condom." I gave him a euro and told him I really had to go. He then told me he had something to give me "for good luck." He started to give me a hug, which turned into some sort of awkward waltz-like dance complete with some mildly inappropriate touching. He then kissed me on the lips and whispered that his name was David and he didn't like girls but that I was very sensual and very classy. He told me where to find him at a later date if I so desired.

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to take him up on that...