I Smell a British Boy

When will I learn? When?!?!?!?

So, I'm at the bar last weekend when He walks in.

Him.

The Briton.

He has on a multicolored polo shirt, khaki shorts and sunglasses balanced on top of his head. He's tall. He has product in his perfectly coifed, dark brown hair. He has bright blue eyes. He's foreign. He has an accent. He has a face that lights up when he smiles.

Trouble.

I don't know him. I've never met him before but, I feel like I've dated him a million times already. Same "type" of guy, different package. He looks over at me. His sparkling blue eyes meet my round, dark brown eyes and he immediately walks over to me. How and why does this keep happening?

I once dated a guy from Spain who explained it best. He was a total pothead. I asked him how he managed to find drugs. (I'm American and I don't know how to find drugs here; I sure as hell wouldn't know where to find them in Spain.) How did he find them? His reply was something that I'll always remember:

"Drug users know where to find drug dealers and vice versa. We find each other."

At this point, the Spaniard paused and looked at me. "It's like us. How did we find each other?"

"I'm not a drug dealer," I said flatly.

He smiled. "That's not what I mean. I mean, how did you know that I was interested in you and how did I know that you were interested in me when we first met?"

"I don't know. It just ... "

"It just," he spread his fingers and waved them in the air, "it just happened." He smiled again. He always had a great smile.

"It just happened," I repeated. Then I smiled.

"Exactly," he said. "People who want to find each other, find each other." He thought for a moment. "... Maybe it's in the smell."

Fast forward to the present. I'm still in the bar. The British guy is walking toward me.

I smell trouble.

"Hi, I'm Alastair," he says.

Wow, Alastair has a great voice doesn't he, I think. "I'm Stolie."

We chit chit with an American guy who is in the general vicinity. The American goes to grab a beer. A few minutes lates, Alastair buys me a round.

Several rounds later, somehow, Alastair and I are alone on the couch and we're talking.

"I know you," I say. "I've dated a million guys like you."

"What?"

"I know you." This is the beer talking now ... "you're an intelligent man, but you're cocky about this. You think you're smarter than most, if not all, of the people that you know. Your friends have told you that they think you're arrogant. You come from a good family. Your father has a nice career and he's done very well for himself ..."

Alastair interupts, "... well, but not great ..."

"Exactly. Your mother ... she took care of the kids. She definitely has a career, but it's a humble one ..."

"... if you call nursing humble ..."

"You like women ... A lot. You're a playboy of sorts and you've used your looks and or your money to get your way. You work in corporate ..."

"Goldman Sachs."

" ... and you've done well for yourself. You're proud of that ... "

"See my friend there," he points across the room. "He probably makes seven figures. Seven figures. I'm doing well, but not that well."

"Anyway, you're doing well. Better than your family back home is ..." I continue talking for a while, but then I stop when I suddenly notice that he's grown quiet. "What's the matter?" I ask.

"Are you a psychologist?!?" He looks slightly bewildered. "How do you know all of that stuff about me?!?!"

"I told you, I've dated you already. You even work at the same company as my ex."