My observations on the French

French men are made to have their hearts broken.

And French women are made to break them.

It's a very specific and weirdly cruel mating ritual. One I simply cannot perform. Because I wasn't born French. I was born British. Brits break hearts by accident and then apologise for it twice and offer to make tea.

But the following I learned all of this from a french lover…

Who kept saying to me — not in these words, but very much behind them — why did you break my heart? WHY did YOU break my heart?

And the whole time I was like: I didn't break your heart? Why would I do that? I like you. And then I would explain, at length, with evidence, why I had not in fact broken his heart.

This went on for a little while. A small 5 years to be exact.

And eventually I got so tired of explaining that I left him.

Which broke his heart.

What I didn't understand until much later was that he wasn't accusing me. He was asking. What he was actually saying — behind all of it — was: please break my heart. It's the only way I can know if this is real.

And the day I left and closed the door behind me, he finally had his answer.

It had been real the whole time.

And I was gone.

Don’t worry. He was married six months later.