British Princes

I have to preface this story by saying it has always been my dream to ride on the back of a motorcycle with a European man-- I blame MK+A for giving me unrealistic expectations.

On Thursday night, it seemed that this dream was about to come true. As one of the 5 brunettes in Denmark, I am not exactly popular with the male population. They tend to be more into the blonde hair/blue eyed crowd (sound familiar, Georgetown??). But in London, apparently, I am a star. This could be attributed to the fact that abroad weight has put me up a cup size, but I'll take what I can get. 

Bitch.

On our third night in London, my class went to some trendy film festival, and about half way through I realized there was a very attractive man sitting behind me. He kept making comments about how ridiculous some of the films were, and me and my vodka/soda were giggling flirtatiously in response. At intermission, he asked if he could borrow a pen. He then proceeded to make the pen disappear. Along with a few coins. Magic tricks? This should have been the first red flag, but he was so, so beautiful. And that accent! To die for. As if this wasn't enough to send me spiraling, he is Greek, and based on my history I'm pretty sure Greek boys are the closest thing I have to "a type." After the films were over, he asked my friend T. and I to stay with him at the bar. We politely declined, saying it would be too expensive to take a cab back to the hotel after the tube closed at midnight. He then offered us a ride on his motorbike. It only took 8 words for him to become 400x more attractive. It was raining, but I wrote my phone number one a napkin and told him I was going to take him up on his offer the next afternoon.

Flash foward to 11am, and the man who I was convinced was going to be my new boyfriend texted me inviting me for drinks. At this point, I was sure I was going to have to drop out of school and move to London to start planning our wedding and working on my British accent. That night, we finally found him at a bar called O'Neals around 11:30 (I was an hour late because of a Frozen Yogurt stop). He was far less hot and far more clingy than I had remembered. And those magic tricks? He apparently performs them nearly every day. At children's birthday parties. Whoops! Needless to say, there was no coming back from that. No way in hell was I getting on the back of a motorcycle with someone who dresses as a clown for a living. I guess Lizzie McGuire, Mary Kate and Ashley and Amanda Bynes all have better luck with European men than I ever will. 

The night was not a total failure. After we left the bar in an attempt to ditch the clown, we found ourselves on the Tiger Tiger dance floor with the entire British marine corp. Tequila shots anyone?? 

Supporting the troops the best way I know how.