The other night, I was at my favorite bar. I was bored and had to get out of the house, so, obviously – whiskey called.

A guy with dark hair, glasses, and a beard started talking to me. As we know, these three things are my primary weaknesses. I wanted some attention, that night, so I kept talking to him. Plus, he bought me a drink, which was pretty cool. Four dollars saved.

We sat together at the bar, next to one of my friends. We started talking, and he mentioned that he had studied German in college. My last name is German. I asked him if he knew what it meant, because I knew, so, testing him, duh (for the record, it means “pike,” as in, the white-fleshed fish). He didn’t know, so I kept wowing him with the rest of my German knowledge, which consists of a variety of words from Bach’s St. John’s Passion. “Unser Herrscher” = “our Lord.” “Purpur kleinen” = “purple robe.” “Ruht wohl” = “rest well.” And so on. I got the Jesus vocab down.

I found out he was born and raised in Kentucky. Which is cool. Ain’t got no beef with Kentucky. But, as we talked, he kept saying things like, “Oh man, I can only think of the German word for that.” Naw, dude. English is your first language. You’re able to summon the English word for things. I’m confident in that.

As the night went on, I also found out that he was of Scottish heritage.

“My last name is Campbell,” he said. “It’s a Scottish clan, known for being traitors.”

That’s a fun piece of trivia to know about yourself. Like, I’m not being sarcastic, here. Go traitors. All for it.

But then he started speaking with a slight Scottish accent. Like, flat vowels, Scottish phrases.

Do I need to remind my readers that dude was born and raised in Kentucky? He had been to Scotland once. For a few months. I met a(n actually) Scottish guy recently who had been in the US for a few years and I only recognized his accent as Scottish after a few minutes.

Eventually, I let him walk me home. Sometimes a girl feels like flirting. Sometimes a girl wants a little attensh. We got to my apartment and I told him we could make out a little bit, but I wasn’t going to sleep with him. And, with no qualms, he was like, “Eh, no, it’s okay.”

We parted ways. I woke up the next morning ashamed that I had even kissed this asshole. Nay, that I even flirted with him. Because he needs to know that he’s unbearable, indubitably.