contrat de mariage

This isn't a pickup line so much as a pickup story.

I very briefly lived in France as an undergrad. I wasn't, strictly speaking, studying abroad because I was not affiliated with any French institution and I was not taking classes, but I was living in Paris and conducting some independent research that was funded by my home university. I lived in a neighborhood populated primarily with North Africans, and I am a tall, voluptuous blond (my measurements aren't for public consumption, but my dress size would be an 8-10 if it weren't for my shoulders and breasts). French women do not, generally speaking, look like me. I stood out in that crowd.

CONTEXT: I am walking home to my apartment after buying vegetables. It is sunday afternoon. I haven't showered, I'm more than a little hungover, and I feel like I smell. I am wearing a navy blue dress with a cache-coeur neckline (my favorite). A man sees me in the crowd and aggresses his way over to me.

THIS DUDE: easily twice my age and then some, easily four inches shorter than me and then some, easily 50 pounds heavier than me (I'm not a lightweight) and then some. He is wearing a linen suit. He is not beautiful.

THE EXCHANGE*:

Him: “Miss, you are so beautiful, would you happen to be in need of a husband? I have the papers right here!” and he pulls out a large document labelled, somewhat comically, “MARRIAGE CONTRACT.”

Me: “No thanks, but good luck with that.”

Him: “Well, if not a husband, how about a fuck?”

DID IT WORK: I am not now, nor have I ever been, married.

*En français, pour ceux qui en ont envie:

Lui: “Mademoiselle, vous etes si belle, est-ce que vous avez besoin d'un mari? Voici mon contrat de mariage!”

Margot: “Non merci, bonne chance.”

Lui: “Si vouz ne voulez pas m'épouser, puis-je vous baiser?”