I catch his eyes burning into my face as he grins and without thinking I smile back at him. Rule no.1 - never reciprocate the smile; it only encourages them. Having said that, he was rather handsome so maybe this little eye-lock could have turned into coffee. Rule no. 2 - never, ever engage in conversation. This just ruins the moment (and let's face it - if you're going to meet your future spouse/boyf/lover, the metro isn't the classiest of places for your first rencontre). Instead, I suggest you engage in utter silence, holding the stare for a little longer than is polite, or normal. What else are you supposed to do when it's that crowded? The ceiling is only so interesting up to a point. However, I do struggle with this little charade, worried that the nervous giggle might come rolling back which is never worth the colour it turns my cheeks. Thankfully we didn't get off at the same stop, but don't think I didn't notice his little eyebrow movement.
There's something about taking the metro which makes me uneasy. It seems to be the preferred hotspot for creepy men and the ultimate place for dodgy encounters. Another culprit on the metro once took it upon himself to laugh every time I laughed, mirroring each "haha" that rippled from my mouth. I was simply chatting to a few friends of mine, sharing a few witty remarks, when he decided his hand would be put to better use on my shoulder. I was a little disturbed. But if you think that's bad, I won't mention the leg-humping wonder who blockaded me on the RER train to work one afternoon. He was probably old enough to be my grandfather. After what I believed to be an accidental elbow-into-breasts session which lasted for five minutes (granted it was quite busy), I decided to turn around to avoid such close interaction. On second thoughts, I wish I'd stayed with my chest facing him because my leg has never felt so molested in my life. And don't even get me started on the arse grabbing. Should have brought my pepper spray.
So far, I am yet to meet a French man I would consider taking home to meet the parentals (don't sound too surprised..) A recent encounter with another French man who was walking past a bar I was standing outside went something like this: "I like your dress. Would you like me to French kiss you?" As flattered as I was by this generous and spontaneous offer, the idea of being kissed by a man probably 15 years my senior who thought it was acceptable to ask an innocent female such as yours truly to embrace him on the street was rather shocking. I politely declined, explaining how my ''petit-ami'' in the UK wouldn't be too happy about it, to which he replied: "so? your English boyfriend doesn't know how to French kiss you. Let me show you''. I stuck my tongue out, wiggled it around a bit in the air, and walked back into the bar.
Watch this space!