To British Accents

People have always said I can be rather insensitive. As I sat at the end of the bar sipping my over priced rum and coke I looked around at all the women around me, a sea of women really, grinding their way through pervy inexperienced man-boys.  Didn’t these delusional ladies know that any man worth having was most definitely not going to be found in this dump?  I surveyed my surroundings; the bar was fakely upscale. I don’t think the owner realized that just because it was named Posh did not actually make it “posh”. I had heard many people refer to this establishment as a club, but there was nowhere to dance. As I continued my judgey overview of the bar I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. Figures I would be sitting here enjoying a nice stiff drink in a place like this. I must hate myself, I thought.

“Be careful how loudly you laugh at yourself, people might think you are off your meds”.  I groaned and looked to my left, “Don’t you know women don’t clamor men with fake British accents anymore?” He was momentarily shocked and then his lips stretched out into a huge smirk. “Well good, maybe I will actually have a chance with some of the women in this town, you know considering I grew up in London”. Cue wink. Oh shit. I just insulted a perfect stranger. Now would be the time to down the rest of my beverage and gracefully bow out of the conversation.

“Hey!! Where do you think you’re going? You can’t insult me and run away.” A deep laugh followed this statement. “Come on, I will buy you a drink.” Who turns down a free drink? Not this gal. “You had me at free”, I said as I perched back on my bar stool. His phone rang just at that moment giving me time to get a good glance at him without seeming creepy. His hair was a deep chestnut color. From a distance it had looked clean cut, but somehow up close it looked tousled…perfectly so. His broad shoulders filled out his dark suit, a suit that looked just like any other suit. He was your average guy it appeared, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

I snapped out of my strange staring session as I heard him say goodbye to the person at the other end of the line. I could tell by his smirk he could feel me staring at him. “So let’s talk about your opinion of British accents shall we?” And we did. We talked for hours about life, love, and the stupidest movies we had ever seen. He was only in town briefly, and we never bothered exchanging any contact information. That night reminded me to stop and smell the roses. Whenever I raise my glass I always think, “And here’s to British accents”.

 

© Ashley M. Nee 2013

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