Texas Embassy & American Football

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After the Thanksgiving Day service at St. Paul's Cathedral, Stephanie, Nancy, and I are eating at a little French cafe across the street, chatting away about how we each wound up in London. At times like this, I enjoy the slow pace of going out to eat in this country. We even order coffee after our meal, in typical British fashion, and sit and talk for an extra forty-five minutes.

Next thing I know, we're at a salon, getting manicures and pedicures. Steph has a friend, Catherine, who is a student at the "student salon" nearby, so that's where we are. The prices are so cheap! My manicure is like 6.50, but it takes forever! On our way out the door, we invite Catherine to join us for dinner and some American football at the Sports Cafe.

It's dinner time. Catherine has joined us and Steph is determined to have a proper Thanksgiving meal. Through an advertisement for "An American Thanksgiving Meal", we wind up at a restaurant called the Texas Embassy. Back in the 1800s, when Texas was its own country, this was the actual Texas Embassy in London. Now, Texas is still its own country, if you ask me, but the embassy building has been converted to a restaurant that serves horrible Tex-Mex and Budweiser. And they've got country music playing! Sounds like heaven. I'm so happy, I keep singing along, which makes everyone laugh at me.

We order chips with salsa and guacamole and Budweisers, which I never see anywhere! Bud never tasted so good! The servers are skinny, metrosexual teenage boys wearing big, black cowboy hats. They look so awkward in those hats, it's hilarious. I stare at them, thinking, Why do they look so awkward? People wear cowboy hats all the time in Nashville, and they don't look awkward. But on these guys, it looks so out of place. I can't put my finger on why, but all of a sudden, I feel a new appreciation for the manliness of a southern guy in a cowboy hat. I miss Tennessee.

The food is mediocre, but we're glad to have stuffing, cranberry sauce, green beans, sweet potatoes, and turkey (even if it looks and tastes like it came out of a microwave dinner). We appreciate that they tried.

Finally, we go into the Sports Cafe and see that the place is packed out. Soccer games are on all the TVs except two, which are showing the Titans vs. the Lions. We can't find a place to sit until the soccer games are over. (Because everyone clears out when soccer isn't on.) We sit at a table near some British guys who are totally into the Titans game. One guy lets me have his chair. I'm stunned and say, "I didn't realize there were any gentlemen in London."

He says, "In the whole city?!"

"Yeah! I haven't found any! Except you, of course."

We meet some other American girls, Jessica and Ashley, who are both teachers who were recruited by an agency. They're teaching in East London, so they live there, too. Barking to be exact. That place is so ghetto, they don't want to be out after dark. Jessica says, "We saw a guy get stabbed in the head!" Holy shit, I'm glad I live in St. Albans!

Of course, the Titans kill the Lions.

Steph says, "Where's the guy who gave you his chair? He's kinda cute. I dare you to ask him out."

"OK." But I hesitate, not knowing how to do it. I feel nervous. It hits me that I've never really asked a guy out before. In the south, that's the guy's job, so I've never had to do it. I gulp, thinking, Well, Alicia, you're not in Tennessee anymore, so suck it up.

I stand behind him, like an idiot, trying to think of how to ask him for his number.

I tap him on the shoulder and smile, "Hey, thanks again for letting me have your chair."

He smiles, "Oh, no worries."

"You can have it back now, actually. I'm about to leave." And die of embarrassment as soon as I'm out the door!

"That's alright. I've already got another chair now anyway."

I look down and realize he's already sitting on a high stool. Duh!

"I'm Alicia," I say.

"I'm Tom," he says, shaking my hand.

"Nice to meet you! Would you like to go have a drink sometime?" I blurt out. Blood rushes to my cheeks.

"Sure," he says.

"Alright then, let me get your number," I say, taking out my phone, wishing the whole encounter would be over soon.

Let me just say, I leave that night with a new appreciation for what men have to go through when they approach a girl. I guess I can understand why guys here don't do it much, however....men in the US do it all the time. Guys approach me, start conversations, ask to see me again, etc, all the time at home. And I have never been mean or rude to a man who expresses an interest. I always thank him for the compliment and let him leave with dignity.

I still think British men are wusses.

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Photos

Heck Yes, Good Bud-dy!
Nancy, me, and my Bud at the Texas Embassy.

Texas Embassy
Nancy, Catherine, and I at our Thanksgiving dinner.