So ladies, I know this has happened to you before. You meet a guy. A British guy. And, you know, he possesses that gentle, refined manner we've come to expect from our neighbors across the pond. He simply LOVES the golden age of Hollywood. He also doesn't want to touch you—not because you excite him about as much as a chunk of day-old bread pudding bobbing in the English channel, but because he is the last of the true gentlemen.
And then, of course, despite your strong feelings for said Brit, you end up sleeping with with your sleazy high-school friend in the middle of a city-wide blackout because you can kind of sort of convince yourself that he's this other, probably-not-into-chicks (in a noble way) guy. THIS TOTALLY HAPPENED TO BLAIR LAST NIGHT.
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