French Romance

I usually refrain from troubling readers with my dreams, but this one was peculiar.

I had somehow attracted the attention of a middle-aged, nerdy professor of the humanities who specialized in some event that occurred near Aix-en-Provence in the second half of the fourteenth century. Without much preamble, other than the sense of a few occasions of conversation, he approached me while rather unsubtly cutting out a red paper heart printed on a newspaper page pertaining to Valentine’s Day. He left this in front of me along with a typed expression of his wish to become engaged, along with a list of caveats that I needed to be aware of: he was traditional and didn’t want to fool with “open relationships” or any similar modernities, he knew that his ailing father was likely to die some time in the next decade or so and that it would not be an easy time to get through, and he was expected to attend certain professional conferences two weeks of every year, to which the academic organizations involved expected him to devote a lot of energy.

Well, it’s the best offer I’ve had all day.

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15 thoughts on “French Romance

    • Do you know, I have been fantasizing about him wistfully all day? He knew what he wanted, he brought a solid offer to the table, he had a clear idea what the “issues” were, he had a job and professional standing, and he discreetly withdrew while giving me time to think it over. It was positively refreshing.

    • There was nothing remotely erotic about it. But I might have milked it for a trip to Provence, underwritten by someone whose own expenses were tax deductible. The fields of lavender in summer! Montsegur! I’ve always rather wanted to see them.

  1. So … this very academic and bloodless style does not repel all women? More to the point, does not repel a deeply literate woman warrior? Though capable of scaling the castle walls, my inner scholar is oddly encouraged.

    • The older you get, the more you long for someone who has got his ducks squarely in a row. I would expect a professor of humanities to be deeply literate too, so there’s be something to talk about while I was folding all these goddam massage sheets. I’d probably be a problem at faculty parties, though — dressed in formal gym baggies, dropping to the floor and demonstrating Hindu Pushups.

      • You are so right about that. I’d much rather have clarity.. then I can make decisions with an understanding of what i might be getting into!

  2. Pingback: Esclarmonde d’Alion « Sixteen Tons

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