Dating in Paris was almost perfect except for one thing.

Bas had me at a Bonsoir.

At first glance, I knew I had met my Petit Prince. Well, minus the petit part. He was tall and more akin to a human Eiffel towering over me. But despite the baguette height difference, we managed to lock eyes at an illegal rave in the forest on the outskirts of Paris. Such a badass.

Hours later, the night was wearing thin, and we met just as we were both independently trying to understand our GPS location beyond the grassy dance floor. After realising we were going in the same direction, we decided to share a cab. I rationalised car-sharing to lavish myself with a trip to a bistro the next day. Parfaite!

We exchanged numbers, and soon enough, we started dating in Paris. He made the city of love live up to its hype. Bas and I got along with having similar working backgrounds, love for the Parisian nightlife, same tastes in tunes, but most importantly, down with spontaneous city adventures.

What’s it like dating in Paris

Bas took me beyond the famed tourist spots and the stereotypical romantic backdrops and made me see the city from his point of view. Instead of eating out, he was charming me with his Entrée salad-making talents in the kitchen. It would’ve been perfect if he had mastered the French cuisine part! Still, he found other ways to impress me.

Read more: How the hell did I end up living in Paris?

Gradually, I started to stay over his a few nights a week. The only problem is that I hardly got any sleep. And yes, that may sound like it alludes to having a fantastic time in the bedroom (and I wish I could leave it at that). But it wasn’t the case.

It wasn’t like Bas’s sleeping arrangements were terrible due to lack of room or me trying to navigate how to spoon a skyscraper. It was just that his bed lacked support for both of us: pillows.

Bas had only one pillow on his king-size bed. Doesn’t he believe in the mantra, ‘guest gets best’? I thought Bas would make the one-night sacrifice and offer creature comforts for his new lady friend. Except he didn’t.

I thought it was a once-off, but the more times I stayed, the same situation remained. Bas never once offered his pillow. Instead, he offered me a worn-out ornamental couch pillow from his communal lounge room with just about the same comforts as a facial towel.

Read more: The French food pleasures you need to eat in Paris

I am a restless sleeper, and most nights when I stayed at his, I couldn’t sleep. I would toss and turn and look at my Petit Prince receiving his royal comforts and I, without such grand luxury. I liked Bas, but my pettiness for a comfy pillow soon snowballed into realising something more.

Despite Bas wanting to woo me, he wasn’t willing to make a sacrifice. I had brought up the hot topic of #pillowgate and the need to invest in a trip to the bedroom department – not his, of course. He didn’t see how the pillow played a more significant part in the overall picture.

We ended up putting our romance to bed just shy of two months together. Bas is a great guy, but I value a well-rested good night’s sleep. I may miss Bas, but spooning my pumped-up Dunlopillo is the stuff of dreams.

How was dating in Paris for you? Share your experiences below!