Run away, the British are coming!

Since I haven't been on any dates for the past 5 days, I've decided to recount a dating story from the vault. This story is actually about the end of relationship, if you can call it a relationship. The "relationship" was pretty much only 4 or 5 dates strung together and ended in a hilarious coincidence.

I've only been picked up in a bar twice in my post college life - that I can remember. Once by the guy checking ID's at the door of the bar (that story deserves it own blog post) and once by a British chap - The Brit. Playing the part of "I am a Brit, new to the States, talk to me!", The Brit bounced over to my little group of friends as we sat at the bar and promptly started chatting me up. At the time he told me he was at the bar with a group of friends that he played soccer with. But as I think back on the scenario, he was probably just walking around the bar alone trying to pick up women. That's where I come in. At the end of the night he asked for my number and that began our series of incredibly awkward dates.

I kept The Brit around because he was always dressed really nicely, and was constantly complimenting me while speaking in his fantastic accent. He was also a school teacher with a DC public school, which I gave him a lot of credit for. He probably got the crap beat out of him verbally every day. He was, after all, a scrawny little British guy who wore skinny ties and only talked about soccer and the holidays he took with his mum when he was young. Sure, his personality was a little off, but he was BRITISH, I kept telling myself.

One Saturday evening my two roommates and I decided to host a party at our apartment. The Evite went out weeks in advance, and a considerable number of people had RSVPd to attend. I decided to invite The Brit, because we had spent a lot of time together over the past weeks, and he would definitely charm everyone with his accent.

The night of the party, I waited for The Brit to show, but he never did! "This is so odd...", I thought. We had talked at length about the party, he knew where I lived, and he didn't answer his phone earlier. In fact I hadn't heard from all weekend. After a couple of glasses of wine, I decided to confront the situation the only way I knew how...I decided to call him at 1:00 am. Of course I got his voicemail..."Where are you? Don't bother calling me again!" I'm prone to overreacting at 1:00 am after several glasses of wine.

The next day I received a call from The Brit begrudgingly explaining exactly where he had been all weekend. The story goes that he went out on Friday night and picked up a young woman with whom he danced and made out with at the bar. They must have a had a great time together, because at the end of the night this girl invited him to go to a party with her the next night. She explained where the party was and who was hosting it. Slowly, and I'm sure to his horror, he realized the party he had just been invited to was mine. The girl he had hit on and made out with on the dance floor was a friend of my roommates.

Although the story sounded endearing when told in his wonderful accent, I laughed and told him how I guessed he had learned his lesson. I'm actually pretty impressed he called to tell me what had happened, his work in the DC public school system must have made him brave.

This proves that Washington DC is a very, very small place and the dating pool is slim. Or it proves that guys with British accents can pretty much go around picking up anyone they want.

THE END