Return of the two "Annie's"So, both my best friend/roommate's name and mine ends in the phonetic name "annie." It's only pronounced like that, but neither are spelled like that. Well, we decided to indulge in a little bit of day drinking and ended our tour at World of Beer. Coincidentally, two British lads were seated beside us and I'm sure you know by now, I couldn't resist inquiring more about their accents and home country. As I sparked a conversation with the taller, bulkier of the two, I couldn't help but notice his friend behind him had flaming red hair. If you followed just a handful of my blog post, you would learn that I have two weaknesses, red hair, and blue eyes. Well. I'm sure there's a lot more weaknesses than that but those are the only two worth mentioning in this here blog post. The bulkier Brit and I spoke about politics and England and how much him and his friend loathed London. He compared it to the New York of England and I agreed. My best friend came up and begin engaging in the conversation. "You're cute," she blurted to the ginger. "Well thank you darling; you're incredibly cute yourself." "Why thank you," she said in a flirty slur. Well there goes my chance, I thought. Continuing conversation and not letting the flirt break my concentration on their beautiful accents. There was a turn in the conversation and the bulkier Britt begin interjecting over our circle to talk to another American, my roommate. I sparked conversation with the ginger and then we decided to move to where we didn't have to shout over each other. Getting a better look at his tattoos, he followed my eyes and began explaining them on without hesitation. When he confirmed my thought that one on his left bicep was strangely familiar and seem to be identical to. Of Captain Jack Sparrow. Wow I said. A conversation ignited from there and there was no stopping us once we confirmed our favorite musical Talent of all time, the one and only Freddie Mercury. Shut up! I've never met a girl that loves Freddy! He explained. You want to drink? I smiled. What did you have in mind? Jack Daniels? He offered. Absofuckinglutly I said. Instantly taking that as an opportunity to talk about the Jameson distillery in Dublin, he smiled and ordered two shots. Setting my face as our glasses tapped, hit the bar top, and tilted back to my lips, he smiled. You didn't even make a face. Well yeah, I shoot whiskey oh, I said. I think I could love you. He said. Whatever! As we continue to drink, we became more comfortable in our body language. At some point, I revealed my weakness for gingers. "Hissaw," he said. His fair skin flushed a bold pink. Well I'm absolutely in love with your accent, love. And you love Freddy! How could anyone not fall for you? You're quite beautiful as well. Smiling with a slight eye roll, he jabbed my shoulder in a playful manner. Not to mention, great tits. Glancing down at my braless tank top nestled underneath the light t-shirts, I blurted oh, you can't say that! I know you're not from here but like that's not how we roll. Why can't I? It's true. At that moment, I heard his friend oh, yeah oh, I was just kidding ! To my best friend. Stephanie! She said , grabbing my arm. Pulling me aside and away from my Ginger, she told me how much of an asshole so the guy was and how he said something about women not being as Superior as men. Yeah, they're from another country Tiff.... Everything's the same over there. I responded. Rolling her intoxicated eyes, she stormed outside. He was just taking the piss oh, the ginger said. What does that even mean? I said chuckling. I'll be right back. It means I guess as you call it joking. Oh, I exited the bar in pursuit of my friend, in the cool March Air. After a quick conversation that didn't go very far, we devised a plan where she would go home to meet a guy she was talking to earlier in the day and I would stay here and walk home later. Returning to the bar, the bulkier Brit smiled smugly saying, "ehh, was a bit cold out there?" Rolling my eyes and returning them to his, I said, "how are you going to check out my boobs too?" "What you have great tits. And your friend has great tits, as well." "But, we don't say that in the states," I spat back. "Why not? I think it's quite the compliment, he said in a thick accent." Rolling my eyes I smiled as I sipped another beer. The ginger turned towards me and then to the bartender. "Can we get two more Guinnesses please? Looking back at my full Guinness, I laughed. "I have hardly sipped this one!" " Then, you better get busy," he stated slyly. Laughing off their objectifying comments, I sipped my second favorite beer. Again, impressed that I not only enjoyed guinness, but could drink them quickly, the ginger leaned closer to me and flirtily continued to converse and flatter me. After another hour of banter, and then I'm complimenting my accent, as I lapped up theirs, both boys closed their tabs. "Do you want me to walk you home, love?" "No I think I'll be fine, it's only a couple blocks." I answered the adorable ginger. The bartender, who had hardly paid us attention the three hours we sat at the bar, interjected. "Honey, you need to let him walk you home." I'm sure my face said it all because she continued after a brief pause. "There have been a lot of sex trafficking in this area and girls have been disappearing. Once a girl comes up to them, then the second girl is never be seen again." Eyes wide, I nodded. Oh, was all I can manage to respond. Looking back to the ginger, he winked at me. Thanks, I spoke towards the bartender. Not upset in the slightest that an adorable British Ginger, would be walking me home, I accepted the night as it came. Naturally, he came inside and I quickly learned the softness of his lips. "Ah!" He responded, "the taste of freedom." Cackling, I smiled back. "Whatever!" As I shoved his shoulder.
"When I hook up with girls in Germany, [his current station in the British army,] I shit in their tea kettle." "I'm sorry, what?" I spatted, in disbelief and positive I misheard him. Repeating the same statement, I was perplexed. "I don't... I don't understand. Why would you do that? That's repulsive." "Because, they're rich twats." "But what even made you think of that?" "My buddy and I do it as a joke. That way, when they heat up their kettle for tea, it smells like..." He burst into laughter. "How old are you?" The words fell out of my mouth. "Well I told you in the bar, 21. But my real name is not Ryan, because that's a fake ID that I didn't want the bartender to confiscate." Relinquishing his real name, my eyes became the size of watermelons. Oh my gosh please tell me I'm not messing around with a minor was all that flooded my mind. "I'm 20." Swallowing the information, I knew there's not much to do about it at this point. At least he was legal. Laughing to myself I just looked at him. Still trying to process the teakettle information. "So, I take it you never talk to these German girls again?" Slightly changing the subject back to the first thing I couldn't wrap my head around. "God no! After the tea kettle thing, I rube them." "What?" "I rube them. Straight out their pocketbook." A wave of fear washed over me. Immediately thinking of the little cash I had left from my savings account that I had withdrawn in case of emergencies in my purse, on the coat rack, in the corner of the room we were in. I exhaled. "Don't worry," he said putting his right index under my chin. Peering into my eyes he said, "I'm not going to rob you. I like you. I've never told anyone that I was with about the tea kettle or money thing." Trying to conceal my panic, I immediately wanted to put my purse in the oven, out a window, anywhere out of sight. "Stephanie, I told you, I don't like who I am. I'm not a good guy." "Why? Why you do that?" "Because, I grew up really poor. And I didn't even know how poor I was until I realized in my teenage years that bread and sugar were not 'a treat,' that was normal necessities that other families can afford. I begin stealing when I was nine to survive. It became more of a sport when I dated terrible women." Divulging more information about his troubled past, I listened, but still had half of my attention on my yellow messenger bag purse in the corner of the room. Pulling me closer, he said, "I'm glad I met you." Racking my brain about the how the entire situation came to be and making a vow that for the duration of a stay I would not let him out of my sight, I forced a smile. Before anything else, I felt an urge to throw up. I thought maybe it was because of the news in my fear of losing the little money I did have to a British military man barely old enough to drink in Britain, much less here. But now, it was because I guzzled 3 guinnesses, 3 mixed shots, two shots of Jack Daniels, and a Margarita earlier that day for entering World of Beer. Not to mention the flight before we engaged with the Brits. I was able to keep my eyes on him the rest of the night since I continued to throw up, like a minor at a frat party that couldn't keep up. After every time I brushed my teeth and returned to the futon, he pulled me close and kissed me again. Returning to the sofa as my eyes settled on his blue eyes, my hands combed through his thick red hair. Smiling after one of my trips, he whispered, "you're the only girl I've ever told my real name." "I don't know, this is a game for you. Not quite sure I believe that." "Stephanie, I swear, I could marry you." Familiar with lines, I spatted back about how now he was the seventh guy to tell me that he was going to marry me. Vaguely remembering one of his earlier references to the gold ring on his right hand with his family's coat of arms on it, and him inferring that I too could have one someday, I reminded him of that. "What if I meant it? He replied." Heard it before. Not really impressed. "Besides, you don't even have my Snapchat." "I tried to find you, remember?" "Do you have WhatsApp," I asked. Knowing full well this was just to keep another contact in England. He smiled, "oh yeah! We have to connect on there." After exchanging our long WhatsApp numbers with plus signs and foreign area codes, we drifted off to sleep: me in his arms. The next morning, technically three hours later, he rose from the futon and replace his clothing. Kissing Me Softly, he told me goodbye. Not moments later, email from the backroom also left the front door, jacket in hands. What. Just. Happened. Was all I could think. Blog material for the win. I'm in TRUFFLE!Earl Grey Truffles suited the situation
2/3 cup heavy cream 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces and softened 2 teaspoons loose Earl Grey tea leaves 6 oz fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped 1 cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder PREPARATION
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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