TOOLBAG TUESDAY

I know several guys who are from countries other than the U.S.A. and yes, I think their accents and scarves and Adidas sneakers with dark skinny jeans are...very nice.

But I also know some guys who just SAY they are from other countries to get girls when, really, their parents are the ones from another country and they personally have never lived there.

Yet, when necessary, these guys use an accent, (um, mimic their father’s accent) or embellish their exotic life story in order to make girls think they are…very nice.

Take Connor, for example, who I met at a bar and who was wearing a ridiculous T-shirt that said “The department of redundancy department.” In an odd British hybrid accent, he said, “It’s cool, I can wear things like this because I’m “Eurotrash.”
(uhh, Australia isn’t in Europe, genius).

“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“My parents moved here when I was four,” he said.
“Do you even remember it?”

I left to go to the bathroom and when I came back, I found redundancy department talking to another girl who was laughing at his shirt, twirling her hair, eyes lit up.
It had to be because of the accent. Because he wasn’t even cute.

That’s the problem with this faux foreigner breed. American ladies eat it up like it's the real thing.

(Oh, and for the record, my foreign exchange student date in high school was totally LEGIT.)

This whole being attracted to foreigners thing was NOT the same with American girls and European men when I studied abroad in Spain.
(I don’t think American girls have a very good reputation outside of Tom Petty songs.)

But, tell a girl on “this side of the pond” that you’re from England, mate, and she’ll swoon. She’ll start fantasizing about living in a castle and being a princess.

My friend Stuart found out about this trick quickly.

I met him in college. His parents moved “to the states” oh, TEN YEARS BEFORE HE WAS BORN, and he didn’t really have an accent but he would change his voice when he’d go out and talk about his parents’ coat of arms and name crest.

(Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for hometown pride. But saying you’re from somewhere just to get girls makes you a bloody arsehole. Ha)

Stuart got so carried away at a bar with this RUSE that he even brought out the bloke to me personally.
I spotted him one weekend at a busy bar downtown, surrounded by a group of giggly American girls.

He was wearing a silly fedora hat. I told my friend who I was with all about him, that he tells everyone he’s from London when he really graduated high school in Maine or something.

But, I remembered he was nice when he wasn’t trying to show off and I had known him for years, so I thought I was safe to say hello.

“Hey, I thought I saw you over there!” I said to Stuart as he walked by and nodded at me.

“Oh, yea? You saw me?” he asked, in an exaggerated English accent, sizing up my friend.

“Yea, you were surrounded by girls,” I laughed.

“Look,” Stuart said, looking down at me. “Everyone here wants to s*ck my d*ck, OK?”

I was horrified.

“Oh really?” I raised my eyebrows. “Well then you should go FIND those girls, because NONE OF THEM. Are around HERE,” I said, making a dramatic circle with my arm around me, my friend and everyone else in range.

He fixed his fedora hat, smirked and walked to the bathroom before I could properly wail on him.

“God, his accent was really stupid,” my friend said.

“Yea, that’s because he’s NOT FROM LONDON !” I screamed in Stuart’s general direction.

“He’s not from London?” a girl who was just on Stuart’s arm asked me when I loudly repeated the line within earshot.
On purpose.

“No, he’s not from London. He just says he is,” I said.

“Nope…," I took a deep breath. "Not. From. London,” I repeated, a few minutes later, when Stuart returned to the bar. He faced me, gave me a look and put one finger over his mouth, like shhhh.

I told him something only an American girl would say in public.

And then I wished for a Sheppard pie in the face.

-Jenny