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Layla Demay Headshot

What Would a French Woman Do?

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I am a goddess. I'm not the one professing it. No, no. A goddess wouldn't be so tacky to be judge in her own case. Mon dieu, non!

The world is trumpeting my glory: You just have to look around you. The Wall Street Journal is saying it. The New York Times is affirming it. The Washington Post is asserting it. Oprah Winfrey is broadcasting it. And I'm glad to say that I concur.

I'm French and in your country, I'm as divine as the Holy Ghost. I know, I know, I didn't create the universe. I accomplished far better.

See for yourself: French women don't get fat, don't get old, don't get wrinkles, don't get gray hair, don't get lung cancer (despite smoking two packs of Gauloises a day), don't get bad breath (despite smoking two packs of Gauloises a day), they don't raise brats, and most importantly, they don't sleep alone. French women are seductresses; they are elegant, sexy, sensuous, and irresistible. Elles sont fabuleuses!

Still not bowing to my glory in devout adoration? Take a look at the shelves of any Barnes & Nobles:

- French Women Don't Get Fat (Publisher: Knopf)

- What French Women Know: About Love, Sex, and Other Matters of the Heart and Mind (Publisher: Berkley Trade)

- French Women Don't Sleep Alone (Publisher: Citadel)

- French Women for All Seasons (Publisher: Knopf)

- How To Dress Like A French Woman (Kindle Edition)

- Fatale: How French Women Do It (Publisher: Bridgewood Press)

- Entre Nous: A Woman's Guide to Finding Her Inner French Girl (Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin)

- La Seduction: How the French Play the Game of Life (Publisher: Times Books)

And I could carry on...

When publishers rack their brains for the next best seller, what do they look for? Some lingerie, some je-ne-sais-quoi, some croissants, et voila! French has been the keyword to guarantee a publishing success. You want a best seller. Pour the French dressing onto it.

The latest publishing phenomenon, Bringing up Bébé asserts that French parenting is the greatest. It made the front page of the weekend review section of the Wall Street Journal. "Why French parents are superior" the title said. And truly, given how much Murdoch hates the frogs, when his flagship paper genuflects to France with such veneration, you know you've pinned the TRUTH.

Yes, I am the best breeder of children. Look: my kids eat spinach by the truckload. They sit quietly at the table through a three-hour meal. They knew how to decipher Merlot from Pinot Noir before they knew their alphabet.

Jamie Cat Callan, another apostle, recently informed us that French women don't sleep alone. In her eponymous book, she reveals, and I am quoting her, that French women "don't listen to Dr. Phil's advice. They don't worry about the care and feeding of their boyfriend. And they certainly don't travel to Mars to communicate with men. On the contrary, French women's love lives are romantic, sensual, playful, and intense. They conduct their relationships with the same unique sense of originality and artfulness that they choose their clothes and accessories." Jamie is so spot-on: I put the same effort in my relationships with my numerous lovers as into picking my socks. My lovers... ahh, they all kneel to me in absolute reverence, and not simply to provide my favorite sexual gratification. They do adore me. Simply because I treat them with the intensity I usually devote to my hosiery.

Should I add that I am a goddess in bed? You probably knew that already. So did Debra Ollivier. The American author and I never had sex. But she wrote a book about it. It's called What French Women Know: About Love, Sex, and Other Matters of the Heart and Mind. She knows that when I go out to a party, I just have appear, and men come rolling to my feet asking me to become their paramour.

Over the years, French-American relations have been complicated. Today, it's absolute love, but a few years back, the US graced their Trans-Atlantic friends with "the French bashing". One of your congressmen wanted to rename "French fries" "Freedom fries".

The French bashing... How entertaining that was. You silly facetious Americans, you! Do you think that you can hate the French?! Seriously?! Of course, you can't hate us. We are so charming, so délicieux, so chou à la crème, so brioche, so haute couture.

What would you do without French wine, French cheese, French bread, French press, French toasts, French doors, French mustard, French kiss. Go ahead, try to rename all this French stuff with a Freedom prefix. You would end up with Freedom barricades.