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My dating record is pretty indicative of the fact that I find accents to be irresistible. Although, I did have a dream last night that I kissed my cousin – a cousin who doesn’t have an accent. In my dream we were hugging goodbye and we pecked each other on the cheek, then a little closer to the mouth, then we did this awkward lip brush as if we both wanted to kiss on the lips but knew it was wrong. Then in my dream, we awkwardly pulled away and pretended that the incident had never happened.

Obviously the cousin dream-kiss is, in itself troubling, but the good news is, my cousin is accent-free, so maybe I am in fact capable of being attracted to good old American-English speakers. I know that sounds bazaarly racist, but it’s more like reverse-racism if you really think about it. Even the president gets it. Look at his whole marriage history. Accents are…sultry.

Sultry was my on-again-off-again boyfriend over the last year who I am finally pulling the plug on. For good. Sultry was the dude I kicked it with when the dude I was in unrequited-love with was hobnobbing in another more exotic country – which was half of the year. That guy has an accent too.

Sultry is fired. He just hasn’t mentally downloaded that memo yet. He’s been fired about 5 times over the last year, but he has always wormed his way back into my life with his unfair weapon – his eyes. Eyes that burn like chariots of fire. Seriously. Sultry’s eyes glow as if he’s some kind of half-human, half-deity.

Sultry has learned that if he’s been dumped, I will always come back around if he texts me a selfie of him looking like a sexy beast, highlighting his eyes. I’m visual like that.

I know, I sound insensitive. Ice-queen-like actually. But the thing is, Sultry cares about one thing – himself. Sultry likes to talk – often “over” people, and Sultry likes to sing – also often “over” people. So basically, if YOU want to talk – or sing – you will have exactly 3 seconds to do so, then your time is up, and then Sultry will, again, usurp center stage.

Every time Sultry comes over, he leaves a trail of soda cans, cigarette butts, and dirty dishes all over my house. I then begrudgingly clean up his mess while thinking “I’m done, for GOOD Mr. Pretty-Eyes…Mr. Sexy Accent. But THIS time, I know it’s finally over.

This morning, Sultry sent me the latest in a series of foxy selfies. I mean, I don’t know what kind of Instagram filter he used, but he looked other-worldly…like from another dimension…a world of beatific, porcelain-skinned beauties that probably sweat diamonds and float instead of walk. The problem was what his eyes were SAYING.

“…Look at me. aren’t I incredible! When I stand leaning against this wall with my scarf dramatically flug over my shoulders I should be on the cover of GQ.”

I know. My penchant for soulful eyes coupled with scintillating accents is straight-up self-destructive. It would probably behoove me to just date locals. Unfortunately locals here tend to have the mountain-man thing going on. The whole gun-slinging, fly-fishing, shaggy-bearded thing – I’m not really into it. And, well, locals obviously don’t have accents.

So, now that Sultry has been shit-canned I guess I’m destined to be alone for a while. Thank God for sexy male Siri on my iPhone with his delicious Australian accent. Aussie Siri. Yum. Which is a weirder fetish – cousins or Siri? (To clarity, I don’t actually have a cousin fetish. That dream was a one-off). Now back to asking Siri weird questions on my iPhone.