Floored

<p>Have you heard the one about the impulsive American grad student and the broody Brit who argued about which kind of football was better?</p><p><br></p><p>It's a good story especially because it ends with me clutching a pregnancy test in my tiny Oxford flat.</p><p><br></p><p>In my defense it was never meant to be more than a harmless flirtation. But he was just sitting there with his accent and his muscles and his tattoos telling me that his football was better than the one I grew up watching my brother play. Next thing I knew that flirtation got a whole lot hotter and even though I wasn't sure I'd ever see him again-my mystery Brit-it was the kind of night a girl goes to her grave remembering.</p><p><br></p><p>You know how the story goes though ... a few weeks later the impulsive girl gets a little pukey and sees a sports headline featuring her mystery Brit kicking the black and white ball that got us into this mess.</p><p><br></p><p>Trust me I didn't see it coming either.</p>