When I woke up in the morning, my hair had relaxed into rather nice big waves after the previous night, and so since I wasn't really planning on doing much with the day anyway, I decided to skip washing it.
So then in the evening, when my friend Dr. T sent me a Facebook message inviting me out for a drink, I didn't think much of it. Dr. T said he was going out with his flatmate, and since Dr. T lives locally, I figured it was just going to be casual jeans-and-t-shirt drinks at our local pub. Just my speed after a late night out.
I was then surprised when Dr. T said they were actually planning on going out and making a night of it, and so to meet at their flat at 8:30 and we'd be taking a cab to the pub. There goes my nice quiet casual evening... Hence I changed into a skirt, decided the hair still looked okay, and went over to their place.
We arrived at a nice-yet-crowded pub, which was basically an old Victorian mansion that had been re-styled into a pub. We were stuck standing up at first, but pretty quickly found a small table with seats for the three of us, unfortunately located somewhat near the door. I think the guys were fine in their jackets all evening, but me in my little thin top was quite frozen every time the door opened and more people walked in. Given how crowded the pub was, this happened quite frequently, so I was quite the popsicle by the end of the evening!
I could tell at the start of the evening, Dr. T's flatmate was trying to suss me out, figure out if I was worth making a move on. Yet somehow he was too....intense? Polished? Agressive? I can't quite put my finger on it, but while he was an attractive enough guy, the vibe wasn't right. I treated him like a friend, and we relaxed into friendly conversation. Dr. T told a story about how when he'd first moved to London, to save money he'd lived in a tiny shared flat, sharing not just a room but a small double BED with another guy, who he barely knew. Wow, Nordic men really are more...enlightened?...than the rest of the world. I couldn't imagine any red-blooded American male doing that, no matter how much they were trying to save money!
In this pub, the crowd was much more female than male, making it what Maverick and Goose in "Top Gun" would call a "target-rich environment." After realising that there were no real options for me (most of the men in the place seemed to be about five-feet tall), I figured I might as well play wing-woman to the guys. With me talking to Dr. T, his flatmate could easily engage another in conversation, and vice-versa. Plus, a girl would feel more comfortable sitting at a table when there's another girl to talk to.
As the wine flowed, I got to see a whole new side of Dr. T, including one point where he jumped in on conversation with couple, makes me laugh hysterically. He apparently resolved their argument, and to thank us they bought us a tequila shot and a sambuca shot. Even as I accepted the shot and toasted with them, I thought to myself, "Never do shots, they always spell trouble..." Indeed, I could probably point to that as the moment where the night started going downhill!
Dr. T's flatmate struck out a few times with various girls (I'm not sure if he was batting above his level or just coming on too strong), but near the end of the evening we ended up talking to a few Irish girls, and for reasons I still can't explain, I suddenly decided to just start speaking in an Irish accent too. It seemed to crack everybody up, and the Irish girls actually told me it was a reasonably respectable imitation... It seems the Irish accent is the only one I can really do!
When the pub we were at closed at 2 or 3 AM, we all piled into a cab, where I assumed we would be going home, but to my consternation, we arrived at another club. Dr. T thankfully paid my entrace fee and bought me a beer, although in retrospect it really should have been a water (as should have been the last few drinks before it). At this point, Dr. T and his flatmate really seemed to be enjoying the company of the Irish girls, but the quality of men at this club was worse than the last one, if you could believe it.
So, after I got tired of being hit on, I made my apologies and left without even finishing my first beer. I was just tired and ready to go home (and it was somehow 3:30 AM!) So I stumbled outside, flagged down the first black cab I saw (caught sight of an illegal mini-cab but I wasn't that far gone to be that stupid, waved it on until a proper black cab was in sight), and just told the driver to take me home. He got me back to my front door for £20, which at that point was money well-spent, as it was 4 AM and I just wanted to stumble upstairs into bed.
I didn't manage to drink quite enough water to entirely ward off the hangover in the morning, although which made me angry to have violated my "no hangovers" rule, even though this one was quite mild and easily handled by two paracetemol. Still, it wasn't entirely pleasant, reminding me of why I dislike hangovers so much. At least I got back to my own bed alone, as I later heard from Dr. T that he was only just making his way home at 2 PM the next day! I guess he had a good night, but it was definitely a new side of him that I'd never seen before. I guess those sweet-looking Danish PhDs really have a dodgy streak to them too!
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