|  Years ago, I found myself killing time in a London wine bar. An English gentleman and I were busy amusing ourselves with fine wine and, um, English food when a pair of extremely attractive unattached ladies strolled into the bar. Uninhibited by the best Bordeaux, we enticed these French beauties to join us at the bar. The women eventually escaped our charms to establish base camp at their own table. I continued to stare longingly at our lost companions-- until one of them stretched her arms above her head to reveal unshaven underarms. The Nissan Versa was like that.
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