Monday, February 10, 2014

The Brit

A few Fridays ago I woke up to a message from a new guy on Tinder. A Brit. He was cheeky and his banter was better than most I have "met" virtually over the past couple of months. Better than I'd met in person, even and it's hard to communicate humor via text, but I'll be damned if we didn't try and succeed.

We kept going back and forth all day and he was trying to fugure out how to get me to entertain him in Virgina. He offered on utilizing his expense account if I drove out to Virginia to "rescue" him. He was heading back to the UK via NY the following day. I told him if he could think of something interesting enough to make the drive out to Virgina worth it, I'd be game. Then posted this to Facebook:
So I'm talking to this my-kind-of-wit British guy on tinder this morning/afternoon and he's here for work and leaving tomorrow morning. He "wouldn't decline a rescue" from Reston suburbia - as he is without a car and not on metro - and I'm nearly inclined if only for the likelihood of entertainment and possibility of a good story. As well, it has been discussed that we might "abuse" his expense account. I like free, as discussed in objective number 4: Eat. I am disinclined to acquiesce on the grounds of "wanting to live", objective number 2, which I have already discussed with him, prompting a retort of "oh relax, there is literally only a 40% chance that i'll try to kill you". So, now I'm having him think of something that's intriguing enough to drive to Reston for. If it's good, do I take the 60/40 odds?
In case you were wondering objective 1 is laugh; objective 3 is story. I had mixed responses, many of which suggested it was dangerous, don't get killed or kidnapped and the rest wholly cheering: Go for it and report back! A favorite girlfriend who lives in the area and whose company I rarely get to enjoy because she is always busy and lives far out, chimed in and said if I headed her way she'd meet me for a drink first. So then I was definitely going, even when the Brit said that he had to have some drinks with coworkers instead. And I was all well that's annoying (although this turned out to be mostly miscommunication), but told him if he finished early or whatnot, to shoot me a text and meet up with us. The "us" playing into the rest of our day's conversation wherein I basically just said: This is not a hook up.

So at the end of the day I left work and met up with my girlfriend. We caught up on some things and then he texted and said he was on his way. From then on, drinks were on him: Splendid. He was just as amusing in person and said Tinder was a shitshow of one word responses, wherein I became a "beacon of bantor". (I've had a hat made. j/k.) After a bit, we left that place and went to another spot to grab some food. After which, my girlfriend left and the Brit and I headed to another bar in the complex that was open longer.

It was during this time that we discussed my hair and as proof I showed him a photo I my mom had uploaded to Facebook of me as a child. He immediately burst out laughing and told me I looked like Ric Flair. "Who?", I didn't hesitate to ask - and perhaps I should have.

He sort of had a point.
This is the photo of Ric Flair he brought up on my phone to show me. I disagreed entirely with him and then he asked if he could ask other people what they thought. I acquiesced under the condition that he didn't state that the child was me. And so he proceeded to use these two photos to poll other patrons to see if "this baby, who may or may not be someone in his bar" he would say as he pointed to me, "does it look like Ric Flair?"

We both got a good chuckle. By the time the bar was closing I had declined another drink, citing my need to drive home. But by the time I left the bar, I realized driving home was illegal at that point. So I went up to his hotel room - "I've got two beds," he'd said, "You're welcome to use one" - to wait out legal limits. And then I got tired, hopped into a bed and he asked, "Which bed can I sleep in? Can I sleep in yours?"

"I don't care," I responded, a little intoxicated, but mostly exhausted. And then we spooned, I fell asleep leaving his arm dead, I would hear in the morning as I drove him downtown to catch his train back to New York. After he made a joke about the "dirt" on the cars that I explained was salt and laughed hardily at a snow plow on the front of a pick-up, which I never realized until now might look weird to someone unfamiliar with snow.

"I'll be back in a few weeks again for work," he said on the way back towards the District, "Let me take you to dinner on my expense account to pay you back for the ride."

"You want to hang out again," I responded, "You don't need an excuse," I said with a digging little laugh.

"True, but it ups the incentive," he said. And off he went to catch his train. He texted me when he got back to the UK, and back and forth, and yesterday to tell me he'd book his flight back and just now as I typed these words. He's more attentive than any guy here and with nary a kiss and an ocean between us. How cute. I made a new friend. And he's got a lovely little accent...even if he does use it to say I look like Ric Flair.


As an aside, when I got home that morning, I accidentally lit myself on fire while making breakfast in my robe. After I patted myself out in a panic, I had a quick revelation which I took to the Internet:
Survived the Brit only to come home and set myself on fire. I literally set myself on fire! They're not kidding when they put flammable warnings on robes. (I really think people worry about the wrong person(s) when it comes to my safety.)
I think I have a point. Odds on.

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