Une Histoire d'Amour: How I Met FBF

Last year (2009) I was invited to a New Year’s Eve party by one of my French friends, Quentin. He told me it was an 80s themed party, we could sleep at the house, and he’d be by to pick me up around 21h.

As it was winter and below freezing at night, I wore a giant jacket, a scarf, and gloves. I walked out of my apartment and directly into the back seat of the car, as there was already an occupant in the passenger seat.

I entered the car, said “bonjour,” and was immediately presented with a lightening fast French phrase, delivered by the unknown passenger.

I had spent the holidays up until the day before with my family, speaking nothing but English. My French was a little rusty, and I was unprepared for this sudden attack of a foreign language. “Pardon?” I asked.

“C’est où, ton costume?” he repeated. This time, I understood that he was asking me where my 80s costume was.

I was now confronted with a new problem: I couldn’t remember how to say “under” in French! I wanted to say “under my jacket,” but was coming up with a complete blank.

“Uuuhhh…..” I stalled, trying to come up with my French phrase.

The passenger had no patience for me. He immediately turned towards Quentin and asked, “Elle parle français où quoi?” with a tone of disdain. (Does she speak French or what?)

“Oui… je parle un peu français…” (Yes… I speak a little French) I mumbled in reply.

Deciding this guy was an asshole with a stupid wig, a stupid fake mustache, and stupid giant sunglasses, I sat quietly in the back seat not looking forward to the party.

As the night went on, I realized that most everyone at the party was in a couple. Having been dumped the month before, I was not looking forward to watching a bunch of happy couples making out at midnight.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. I was going to try to find someone eligible to kiss when the clock struck twelve.

By this time the wig, sunglasses, and mustache had disappeared from the asshole’s face. I was disappointed to find out that he was exceptionally cute. The rest of the single crowd was definitely not.

I drank a bit, and decided to talk to this guy again. He was nicer round two, so I started flirting with him, trying to get ready for the new year's kiss.

There was one problem: Nobody made out come midnight. Instead, they all went around faire-ing la bise (kissing each other on the cheek), wishing one another “bonne année!” and opening the champagne bottles.

Despite the fact that I didn’t need to find somebody to kiss after all and now I had no more need to talk to him, I continued to talk to him all night. We, and another friend, stayed up until 6am talking about life, the universe, and everything.

He was charming, interesting, funny, and had gorgeous blue eyes.

And, before finally crashing on the couches, he asked for my number.


Proof that things worked out! FBF and I last summer.