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Obviously, this book isn’t for the reader hoping to land a poet sipping cognac outside the Louvre.It’s for those young chick gaggles we see every weekend wobbling through bars on six-inch heels, sipping pomegranate cocktails and recounting episodes of Those gals would dig this book, so I highly recommend it to them. Firstly, meeting European men is far from difficult.She embodies an irresistible pop-culture zeitgeist two-fer: We thrill to a clueless train wreck; we smell a clever, clever rat.
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These guys see gals like the author and her chicas arrive in Europe and proceed to become sloppy drunk giggle fiends who screw everything with an accent.
Thus, European men think American women are easy and so, are drawn to them like hound dogs on a rutting poodle.
Part travel guide, part dating manual, is stuffed with giddy anecdotes about the author, a pretty Vanderbilt grad, and her friends as they tour European bars, clubs, ski mountains and beaches in search of studs to love forever and/or scoop for the night.
Cultural tidbits are offered on men from each country – Portuguese dudes are hairy, Brits are shy – and techniques are revealed, including the “Man Meeting Dance Formula” which begins by placing yourself near your target, staring until he’s forced to look back at you then dazzling him with one of your sexiest moves.