That said, because of my middle-class, up-from-a-small-town, prisoner-of-the-suburbs, prepossessingly uncosmopolitan heritage, I’ve always courted the French. The French, those princes of sophistication, style and urban elan. Their food, their wine. Their movies. All through my 20s, I lapped at the hoary pool of flagrant Francophilia, sometimes quite literally. I lost my cherry to a girl
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