10 - Dating in Translation

After bombarding the mister with a new online dating strategy almost every day, I finally realized something: I had to get over my own hang-up about speaking French “alone.” I know, it sounds ridiculous after more than ten years of living here, but whenever it comes to making appointments or handling official stuff, I love hiding behind my husband. The problem is: I simply can’t drag him along on a date.

For daily life, my French is effective. But on a date, it’s not just about being understood—you also want to make a bit of an impression. And that’s harder when you sound like a fourth grader.

What’s the solution? Practice, practice, practice.

You want to know how I practiced?

Well, clearly not with my husband—otherwise I’d be fluent by now.

So I answered a guy who lived around the corner and had already sent me three messages. I figured that meant he was interested enough to look past my linguistic shortcomings—and willing to go along with my suggestion.

Which was this: “Let’s meet in two hours by the canal in the château park.”

The idea: you don’t have to stare awkwardly at each other the whole time or fill every silence with words—you just walk together for a while. Maybe it’s one lap around the canal, maybe a longer stretch of life.

He agreed within three minutes.

Perfect!

Since I felt zero need to impress this man, I wasn’t nervous at all. A public meeting spot satisfied my safety instincts. A quick screenshot for my best friend and my husband, tagging the local gendarmerie just in case, slip into my jeans—and off I went: my very first date in French.

To my own surprise, I felt totally relaxed. One last glance at my phone made my heart skip—but not because of my date. It was my husband.

He had texted, “Ho!!! Have fun! I’m proud of you for doing this without asking yourself 100 questions.” 

What he thought was probably something like: and without asking me, at least 50 of them. With those encouraging words, I walked into my first date in over fifteen years—and the first ever in a language I’ve always battled with.

You’re wondering how the date went?

Well, what can I say—my intuition was right, and my French wasn’t too horrible. But I knew from the very first hug that this was not a man I’d be sharing my sheets with. He wasn’t unpleasant, but there was simply no chemistry. Still, I couldn’t admit that immediately—otherwise I wouldn’t have had a date in French at all. So we walked in circles for an hour and talked about open relationships—literally and metaphorically.

Because by then it was obvious: this was a one-way street.

And yet, I came home happy. The date showed me that I could face the thing I dreaded most and actually pull it off. I can have a date in French—and even sound almost as charming as an exchange student with mediocre grades.

It wasn’t a date that made my panties wet—but it did leave me pleasantly soaked—in self-confidence.