Oh l'amour part un: Love, you nasty thing

I've come to Ecuador to learn French! (Odd, that.) Since I'm going to be living in France for several weeks, and I previously knew nothing about the language, I figured it'd be smart to take some classes. I ended up in a super-intense-five-week-two-hour-a-day French class taught for Spanish-speakers.

Not gonna lie; it's hard.

Luckily for me, many Ecuadorians take English in school, so I've been able to carry out basic communication with most of them. One man in particular, Leon, strove to converse with me.

"Victoria," he murmured, "you are distracting me."

"I am?"

"Yes. With your beauty."

"Oh. Well, I can come looking like a bum from now on if that would help."

"God has a garden with many flowers, but you are the most beautiful flower of all."

Leon's romantic attentions escalated quickly. Two weeks into class, he presented me with a bouquet of roses in front of the entire class (the heat I felt in my cheeks could've roasted marshmallows). After that, when I sat apart from him, the other women (giggling loudly) would rearrange themselves so that Leon was seated next to me, giving him ample opportunity to brush against my arm or touch my hand––despite my pointed glares.

"Sorry, but I'm not really interested in romance right now," I announced to him after class.

"I want to spend more time with you," he replied.

"No. I'm not interested. In you."

"Can you come to my house?"

I toyed with the idea of pulling out my iPod and playing my theme song for him. Instead I shook my head and said, "Nope."

"I will expect you sometime this week?"

"No, I'm never going to your house. Ever."

"Victoria, God has a garden with many flowers, but you are the most beautiful flower of all."

"Huh. Never heard that one before. But look, here's my ride. Goodbye."

He sighed in defeat, then leaned in for the customary "kiss" on the cheek. You always have to kiss everybody goodbye here––it basically involves bending towards somebody so that your cheek is next to theirs, then making a kissing sound. It still feels odd to me, but I suppose the custom of shaking hands looks odd to outsiders. Still, I should've been smarter…

Leon leaned forward, then made a quick dive for my lips. I jerked my head to the side and his lips landed at the corner of my mouth. His soft, squishy lips. "NO!" I shouted, shoving him back with all my strength, then turned and stomped to the car. I was livid, horrified, disgusted––and absolutely, irrevocably enraged.

Seething, I went home, listened to some angsty Taylor Swift music, plotted my revenge, and wrote mean things about men in my journal. Then…I transferred to another class. This section is a lot smaller, with only five girls (all my age or younger) and one young man who could be an Abercrombie & Fitch model. Not that I'm interested.

We'll see how it goes…