In all fairness, the date wasn’t catastrophically bad, not like all the other Misters that I’ve blogged about.
But then again, it wasn’t great either. Our interaction was abysmally awkward — the conversational equivalent of trying to pull out a tooth with a line of string attached to a doorknob. But the most unsettling aspect of this date:
He had ordered the most ABSURD drink on the menu.
Yes, I am a judgmental bitcherina. Fine, I admit that. But seriously, people, this was some artificial Hello Kitty color, came in a giant tippy martini/margarita glass, and it had pink straws and some sort of tropical fruit garnish to complement its apple liqueur base. It also had ludicrous name: “The Love-You-Long-Time.”
We’ll ignore the latent issues with the drink name. It pales in comparison with the substantive matter at hand: the cultural drinking divide between men and women in Paris.
Why do Parisian men order girly cocktails? Mr. Love-You-Long-Time said that they tasted “divine.” Another Frenchman friend confessed that he hated the taste of beer because it didn’t have the nuanced flavors of wine (I protest!). But the more interesting question is what the women here are expected to drink.
My Irish flatmate was wondering whether it would seem “normal” if she ordered a pint on her upcoming drinks date. I found absolutely nothing wrong with that, since I always order a pint myself. Another Americano and an Irishman later backed me up on this, insisting that beer-drinking broads are awesome.
However, our French man-friend begged to differ, insisting that a Frenchman would consider a pint-drinking gal to be pretty strange. Apparently, Parisian girls never order pints. In fact, they rarely order beer at all. Perhaps they consider themselves too sophisticated for beer? When they do opt for a beer for whatever reason, they would only order a half-pint. And I bet that they hate every plebeian sip of it.
While I wholeheartedly disagree with this anti-pint bias, perhaps it has contributed to my inability to land a second date…
Mr. Love-You-Long-Time actually had the audacity to point out my beer-drinking ways on the date, all the while guzzling his frosted, sugary concoction. After I mentioned that my flatmates are both Irish, he glanced over at my pint and mumbled, “Well, THAT explains why you drink beer.”
Somehow, it didn’t sound like a compliment.