I have a really uncanny knack for attracting guys that are so un-American (complete with accents). It’s not something I do purposely but it tends to just happen. Allow me to elaborate…
When you have Good Friday off there’s no better reason to enjoy Happy Hour Thursday. At least Sarah and I attempted to make it to Happy Hour but to no one’s surprise we completely missed it. Because I left work later then originally anticipated, I hopped over to Sarah’s so we could catch up while getting ready. Since I was coming from my super casual office I wore a ripped t-shirt with skinny jeans and boots. I put my hair in a half up Dutch braid and fixed my eye makeup. Too much girl talk, Tindering, and a bottle of wine later we were ready to pounce, errr, bounce. I had some drink coupons left over from a previous night out and figured celebrating Sarah’s birthday was a great excuse. With drink tickets in hand we went to my favorite Happy Hour bar.
Let me tell you, this is not necessarily the place to meet guys. I don’t go there for the crowd; I go for the delicious Passion Fruit and Lychee martinis. I’ve said it before but it’s an interesting mix of people and you never know who will talk to you. I’ve actually been there on a date or two, the red lights and atmosphere lend itself to a rendezvous. Sarah and I found seats at the bar and got to ordering. Some fairly harmless guys chatted us up and the mischief began. I couldn’t even tell you what mundane things we were talking about, it wasn’t that interesting. At some point these jokers realized I was a white girl with a BOOTY. If you know me at all, you know I couldn’t let those mildly average guys get away with that unscathed. I had to turn the tables so they could see how it feels. Comparing their respective asses was the least I could do. Which led to typical puffing of the male ego and I was forced to decide who had the better butt. They were both fairly flat and equally as lame. The only fair way to judge this particular challenge was with a firm grasp. Oh YES. Asses were grabbed and this time it wasn’t mine! The final decision was a draw; there could be no victor.
Retiring my judge’s robes, I decided to move on. Or at least that’s how I vaguely remember it going. The reality is I probably got bored and figured I would eventually find someone better to talk to. I have a bad habit of leaving guys stranded and finding someone cuter. Oopsies. At any rate I took the seat next to Sarah and bought her a shot in honor of her birthday. At some point a very bald man sat down next to me and started talking to us. I have to say as many times as I’ve been to this bar I’ve learned the bar tender’s name but never the owner. Very Bald Man as it so happens is the owner. He also had some type of porkpie hat, which I disapprove of greatly. It looks freaking stupid and we all know you are as hairless as a Sphinx Cat. Nonetheless I was not going to let his poor fashion decisions stop me (and Sarah) from accepting free booze. He was nice enough and the conversation was not as bad as his headgear.
A lovely blonde girl also seemed to know Very Bald Man and we all started talking. Not only did I meet the owner but I also made a new friend. Blonde hasn’t been in NYC too long but we discovered we are both in the same industry. She was super nice and we have plans to hang out again. It’s hard to make new friends as an adult and she even joked about how weird this potentially could have been. Blonde and I also managed to evade a rather strange guy successfully. We had a bonding moment; I mean what’s a better way to make friends then to avoid a creeper together?
I know I promised a foreign accent and here is where he comes in so RELAX. I know you were worried.
Honestly after being half a bottle of wine, free drinks, and free shots in I don’t recall exactly how we started talking but it happened. Clearly, the first thing I noticed was that he had an accent. This time I’ve visited a different part of the United Kingdom: Scotland. That’s a new one for me. Sure there have been a few Brits and an Irishman or two but never Scottish. I’m a sucker, what can I say? We talked about the difference between NYC and Scotland, good bars here, and life in general. Scotland Yard was explaining to me that he found himself acting/speaking differently for fear of NYers not being able to understand him. I put a stop to that immediately. There may or may not have a speech given about being who you are and not changing to please other people. Apparently that makes me a strong woman and a bit of a feminist. Seriously, there is no better panty dropper then a hot accent and when he throws around “a wee bit” casually how can you say no?
I’m sure flirting was also thrown in for good measure. The conversation kept flowing and before we knew it last call approached. Sarah was talking to another guy and we had all been sitting at a banquette. Once the lights went on Sarah and I gave each other the “we’re ready to get out of here look.” So that’s what happened. I made sure Sarah got a cab (ALONE) and Scotland Yard and me walked back to my place. I will spare you the details but I will say Scotland Yard knows how to solve a case.
Ok, now this drives me nuts and not in a good way. He likes to cuddle…uuughhhh, I hate that. Didn’t we just do enough touching? Can’t I just roll over and go to sleep? Why am I always the MAN?? STOP. TOUCHING. ME. This was a great source of amusement for Scotland Yard but we finally got comfortable. Numbers were exchanged and the promise of seeing each other later was made. I figured this was it and he would disappear into the ether. This was not to be so!
To my utmost surprise and shock, he actually followed through. Later that day a text was received and dinner/drinks plans were made for that night. I figured why not, I would just go with the flow for once (instead of overthinking it and living in my head). We walked around St. Mark’s and settled on Thai food. Dinner conversation was all over the place, which is a good thing. We exchanged stories about growing up, our families, and he told me he used to be in a band (they toured, whatever that means). Damn it, another fucking musician. There is no denying I have a type and follow a pattern. Another bar and a few more drinks later we once again headed back to my place.
We hung out in bed for a while the next morning even though he was really here for work. Apparently I’m very distracting. I’m also very kissable, which seriously makes me uncomfortable. Mushy sentiments just feel so strange when you’re thrown lines (many horrible, horrible lines) every time you go out. I really don’t know how to not want to vomit. I just nodded and smiled not wanting to offend Scotland Yard; he did seem sincere after all. Again I got the “I’ll text you later” line but again I’m not one to put any weight behind it. Also, he was heading back to Scotland the next day so I didn’t think I would be hearing from him later.
Color me surprised when he texted me that evening. (I know, I know, he’s getting some ass so it’s not all that shocking.) Luckily I was already out with some friends. This meant I bothered to do my hair, makeup, and put on a cute outfit. We met up for a few drinks and more conversation. Scotland Yard talked about how different going out here is versus home and how much he was going to miss NY. Once again last call passed and the lights were turned on. Following the trend we went back to my place. More cases were solved and…ughhh…more cuddles were had.
Unfortunately the weekend had come to an end and Scotland Yard had to high tail it home across the pond. We’ve already talked and he even sent me the pic we took together (his idea, not mine, I swear!). There is no possible way to not laugh when you hear the word selfie in a Scottish accent. Will I ever see him again, who knows? What I learned is that I can be a girl sometimes, Pringle makes things other then sweaters, and I still love accents.