Chelsea Fagan

And perhaps the most compelling reason to put at least some of the responsibility on women here is that often, dressing in an extremely suggestive manner can be the tipping point in a sexually charged situation. Not all sexually aggressive acts are perpetrated by a violent repeat offender hiding in an alley.

I’ve been on a fair amount of first dates in my life, some ending well, others… ending. And like any human emotional endeavor, there is a certain amount of risk involved that you will reveal your inner sociopath far sooner than intended. Having made that particular mistake myself, the following is a list I’ve compiled of things I’ve learned the hard way not to do.

And I must emphasize the someone else’s part, because the shittiest cats are always the ones that are malicious, crapping-in-your-shoes, scratching-your-calves and hissing-at-you-from-afar little monsters, yet turn into gentle, long suffering and adorable extras from an SPCA ad every time their owner comes in the room

Look, not that I need to justify myself to you, but I read all the time. I read lots of books, many of them long, most with multi-syllabic words. And like the marathon runner who keeps a rigorous diet is allowed a slice of cake every now and again, I can take my brain out of the fridge and let it sit on the counter for a while, growing spores as I soak in the obnoxious giggles of past-their-prime mean girls.

If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about many men that I haven’t personally browbeaten into submission, it’s that they don’t seem to care that much about what they wear. And the only reason I have moved to Europe is that I’m willing to sacrifice men’s charming command of my mother tongue for their ability to pair a scarf with a button-down.

I love this country, don’t get me wrong. Despite its awful reputation Stateside, there are many things about France that I find charming, amusing, or worthy of a distinct lowering of my morals (hey, fellas!). But while I’d love to pretend that Paris is the metropolitan equivalent of an Edith Piaf song dipped in chocolate, there are many things here that simply blow.

It’s been a reasonable humiliating amount of time since I’ve had a long-term, serious relationship, and I finally feel emotionally ready to henpeck someone into oblivion again. I’ve taken my time, gone on many dates, resisted settling, broken a few hearts (but never had mine broken—insert robotic laugh here) and I feel I have a good handle on exactly what I want in my life.