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(I’d like to dedicate this blog post to Angie, Cristin, Jess, and Karen for without whom the true hilarity would not be possible.)

I can’t explain this phenomenon but here we have it: accents are glorious confections of divine design unable to be resisted by the average American woman.

I even have a computer program that I invented that protects me against accent influenced Dyson vacuum purchases.  Why?  Because I really don’t need a new vacuum, but that commercial comes on the television with that British guy talking about how I need this product and my mind goes blank.  I will then “wake up” about 35 seconds later to find myself seated at my computer typing in “www.dyson.com” with no recollection of how I arrived at this destination.

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It also explains how the Empire was able to procure insurance protection on their second Death Star after the first got blown up by some dumbass kid.

One time I was flying with my parents and the movie “Love Actually” came on.  It’s a British RomCom and has its moments of great delight.  There is one scene in particular that made me laugh.  One of the characters is an extremely unattractive man if he isn’t speaking.  Once he opens his mouth, however, it’s like angels and kittens and pineapples have descended from the heavens and erupted from his mouth.  What’s even more humorous is that this character is completely aware of this juxtaposition within himself and the following conversation takes place:

Colin: American girls would seriously dig me with my cute British Accent.
Tony: You don’t have a cute British accent.
Colin: Yes I do! I am Colin.  God of Sex.  I’m just on the wrong continent.

My dad scoffed aloud and said, “This is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”  My mom and I looked at each other and knew this to be the Most True Thing in the Entire Universe.

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That’s not to say ALL accents are created equally, however. 

Which brings me to the main story and point of this blog post.

Once upon a time I went to college and in my freshman year met four lovely girls who had dorm rooms near my own.  We bonded over many things during that year; one of which involved the boyfriend of the bitchy girl down the hall from us.

First of all, this blonde god’s name was Damien, and if those two facts weren’t enough to make us swoon, the fact that he had a mysterious accent was.  We weren’t entirely sure where he was from, since his girlfriend ignored us, but we had ample time to speculate. After much thoughtful consideration we decided he must be from somewhere in Europe.  It didn’t even matter which nation had produced him from its loins, just the fact that he spoke English with an accent was enough for us.

I was the most fortunate in that I had several classes with him throughout the year being that he was an Art Major and I was a Biology Major who took a lot of art classes for no logical reason.  He was a very quiet, artsy type whose every artistic effort seemed steeped in genius.  Despite the fact that he had horrific taste in women, we collectively agreed that he could do little wrong.

Flash-forward one year.  Jess came back from classes with News.

Jess: So… remember Damien?
Me: Of course!
Jess: Well, I found out some things about him today…. disturbing things.
Me: Oh no!  Did he lose his vocal cords?
Jess: Close but much, much worse.  Apparently he is NOT from Europe, but instead he’s from a small town in Minnesota.
Me: But his accent!
Jess: Yeah, that’s not an accent.  That’s a speech impediment.

We stared at each other in thoughtful, crisp silence for several minutes.  The sun shone down from above as horror dawned in our world.

Me: So, um, I’m not sure about you but suddenly he isn’t that attractive anymore.
Jess: I know!
Me: Also his art is pretty crappy.  The only reason he is succeeding at that major is that you really can’t fail at it.

And justlikethat the crush (like this blog post)

Ended.

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