Okay.

What in the literal Star Wars Padme Amidala Decoy Shit was THAT?!

The twist no one saw coming. Wow.

Okay.

Um so this just happened. Need some time to process.

Okay so I went to the bar. As per usual. There the bartender was ready to spill all the tea on the British Guy. She said he told her on Saturday night right before he left with me that he was taking his girlfriend to move to an island somewhere.

And then he left and went home with me. Again. For the third time. To emotionally dump his garbage all over someone who speaks English just to bail last minute because he can’t keep it up.

Ugh.

Okay forget this guy. So over it. Gross. So gross. I can’t even.

So then I turn around, and there’s like… how do I say this politely? Uh, a better looking version of him right there, but like, with way bigger muscles and way darker hair. Very Roman Empire. Like, wow, I spent a lot of time walking around that section of the museum in school, and yeah, this guy was straight outta Rome. That’s hot. I especially like the dark type. He was definitely not such a “Beta Simp,” as the plebes say back in America.

Some being the flirt I am, I was like, “Has anyone ever told you you look like Mark Antony?” Because he totally does, right?

He was wayyyy into it, lol. He was on me all night after that. Even after I went into the other room and ignored him for an hour. Apparently that just made him more interested.

I don’t know who he was. He would not tell me. He was someone special, I know. I could tell by the way he carried himself. I know because I’m from D.C. He was someone. He refused to say he who he was, but I could tell. I know. He was definitely the fancy type…

I know because I remember from so long ago…

I told him about my book about Bloody Mary’s. He had way too many strong opinions about it. I was like… oh, he’s one of these types to ban me from the bar for writing my observations down. He said he was “concerned I am making things up.”

I asked him straight up if he was one of these IRA types. The way he looked at me… hmph.

I think we all know I’m not making things up, sir.

Oh, I don’t know, “Alex,” you tell me. You’re reading this right now, aren’t you?

Am I making things up?

Finally, he wanted to follow me back home. He said I had to leave first so he could have his privacy. Lol, oh yeah, he fancy, huh. Like they don’t already know…

So he was Irish, but maybe kinda British, but definitely a rich boy. Definitely. 100%. He was wearing all black and he called for a *fancy* car ride home. Plus he sat all fancy. It’s hard to explain. You can only know if you know.

I know, he knows.

He says he doesn’t come to this bar very often. Oh really, you don’t say? Are you just coming here to check in on the writer who is just making things up?

I brought him back to my apartment. He did not act weird at all. I said, “Oh that’s weird, usually men are intimidated by this.”

He was so causal in the way he dismissively said, “Oh, this?” As if it was so small. “Why would anyone be intimated by this?”

“Because they’re not real men?”

He turned and smirked down at me with a sparkle in his eye.

“Exactly.”

So I brought him back here and we made out for awhile but he did not want to go further. He waited all this time to reveal to me has has a girlfriend. Of course he does. They always do.

I left him alone by my desk for a few moments. When I came back, he was reading my Hindi dictionary. He had a very weird look on his face. He suddenly said he had to leave.

I escorted him out very politely, in the way I was raised to do. He called a fancy car to pick him up.

That’s when I realized the plot twist: British Guy was the decoy all along. This man standing right here in front of me was the real Mark Antony.

As he left, I waved goodbye and yelled, “Okay, great, have a good night, Bye Felicia!”

I know in my heart he has no idea what “Bye, Felicia” means. That’s why it’s so great to be an American, lol.

Will I ever see him again? I have no idea.

All I can say after sampling this section of the international all-you-can-eat-buffet is… I think I’d rather just go back to Mexico.

As we say in the White Lotus…

Wow, what was that?