I received a compliment recently at the strangest of times. It may be hard to imagine someone like me being unlady like, but I certainly do not wear heels, stockings and corsets at the gym. Lest for health and safety practices the gym insist upon, as much as the work out would be ineffective.
Post-gym session and I am very worn out, natural and fresh faced. I start to walk towards the changing rooms and a male member of the gym greets me and asks, “is that it for the day?” We then engaged in a polite conversation, detailing our workouts and the benefits of cardiovascular versus weight training. Then he said he only asked me over because he was sure I was French. I could only be French.
Now, I understood that this was meant as his compliment to me, and maybe a chat-up line. I guess if I am in the gym and look O.K, then I can only look better outside of the gym, that might have been his thought. Of course, it is in my nature to ask why he thought that was the case. I have always regarded myself as very English, clean and fresh, the rosy, pale-faced type. His response was my face and the eyes, and the figure, for which I should keep visiting the gym, in order to not let it go. All lovely things to say, especially if you want a person to keep visiting the gym. Yet, I did feel a little dented because I had prided myself on being very English. Sometimes people assume I have an Irish look about me, which I class as very similar, except the Irish have something more bewitching about them.
I was very lucky to be thought of in such a way at the most embarrassing and sweaty of occasions. Yet, I will always carry the flag for the British eccentricity which is certainly an equal match for French sophistication even though my last name is French.