FLASHBACK FRIDAYS – A look back to how I got where I am…
I wish I could tell you where my love of men with accents came from. Sure, there’s plenty of current leading Hollywood men to point to: Benedict Cumberbatch and his wickedly seductive drawl; Idris Elba with his sophisticated gruff; Chris Hemsworth and his soothing muscles, uh, I mean soothing voice. Right. Voice.
Suffice it to say, I have always had a weakness for a man with an accent. And I mean ALL accents. Of course a woman may get giddy over an English or French accent and language. But my heart would flutter over a Southern or Jersey twang (this was before Jersey Shore, in my defense). Maybe it’s growing up in Los Angeles where the natural accent typically comes with a surfboard, I don’t honestly know. All I do know is that accents make me stupid. And stupid me will tolerate more things than she should…
I met Henry (not his real name…I think. I’m really bad at remembering names) through my first attempt at online dating years ago. We met at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica, a nice place with a variety of choices to eat at and things to see. Also, public. So I reduce my chances of getting murdered on a blind date (I watch a lot of Criminal Minds and Law & Order: SVU. I’m in the category that gets kidnapped a lot: women). We did NOT hit it off right away. He was sullen and not very talkative. But…BUT…he was English. So I tried to keep up a conversation, because I liked the way he talked. Upon reflection, I realize now my standards should probably be a little bit higher.
So there I was, mooning over a grumpy man with an accent. And just when I thought the date couldn’t go any worse, I made a joke about the moon landing being fake. Henry froze, and he just looked at me as if he were trying to see into my soul. Well, it was either that or he was plotting where to hide my body. I nervously waited for him to say something…ANYTHING. And then he exclaimed, “Yes! You think so too?” I struggled to keep my face from falling and/or laughing, “I don’t really know too much about it, but I have an open mind?” Apparently, “open mind” was the magic phrase to open the vault that was his mouth and out poured the conversation. And by conversation, I mean that I listened while he proceeded to tell me exactly how the moon landing was manufactured by a government secretly aligned with the Queen of England. And because of his damn accent, he made it all sound so plausible and not at all absolutely bonkers and a little more than crazy. He was Nicholas Cage in National Treasure, and I was ready to hand over the Declaration of Independence and Statue of Liberty and whatever else he wanted. And he was so passionate about all his conspiracy theories too. Having finally gotten over my musicians-are-gods phase in college, this passion was intoxicating. I would call him to see if he wanted to get dinner, but he was busy saving the world. That’s right. His job was SAVING THE WORLD.
We dated for almost a month.
It fell apart one afternoon in a flurry of emails. We had had plans to get together that evening, but I had a big job interview to prepare for. I was nervous and wanted the extra time, but he didn’t see it that way. So I got mad at him for not caring about my needs, when he seemed always to care about everyone else’s…Literally. He got mad at me for getting mad at him. And that was that. One month with a man because he had an accent. A Jane Austen heroine, I am decidingly not.
-Sleepless in LA
My Not So Rom-Com Life 