By the year 2025 I told myself that I would be married to a British man with a nice car and last night that dream almost was a reality.

In a smokey bar we were sitting playing pool when in walks a horde of men. One goes to get a pitcher of beer and brings it back to his pals and I offer the table top my friend and I were sitting at. He speaks to us, and lo and behold he possesses a marvelous accent.

Most girls have a weakness for foreign men and to this I am no exception. One man in particular caught my eye. He was blonde with a pink complexion; I could tell he was British by the shoes he was wearing. Blue flat things with stripes of an opposing color. He was older than me, way older than me, and as I watched him carefully angle his shots he noticed and offered me some beer.

I always come across as an airhead when I'm talking to guys who don't know me, but it's only because I'm at a loss for words when it comes to members of the opposite sex. I'm a very shy person but nobody can ever tell because I fake being outgoing. I tried to sound intelligent by telling him my major was psychology. Then he told me to ask him some questions. That old British wit. I just sat there like a dumbass until I managed to change the subject. Oh how I wanted to sleep with him. He could take me to London and we would drive around in his nice car because all British guys have nice cars and then we could make whoopie in a public place and then I'd skidaddle back across the pond and bear his child and never tell him about it and when the kid asked who his father was I'd sigh and look longingly out the window and yearn for the past. Anyway, the guy finally left and I went home and went to bed. The end.