The Lizzie Bennet Diaries

Hi, everyone. So, today--

Hello, everyone.

I apologize for not exactly being on the ball today but, uh,

Charlotte can just EDIT THIS OUT.

Anyway, I have, admittedly, been a little distracted lately, but I wanted you to know--

You all keep asking in the comments, anyway, so, um...

My name is Lizzie Bennet, and George Wickham is texting me.

Okay, so, if you recall, George Wickham was in town a couple months ago

for the week-long swimming competition of hard bodies and weak beer.

Normally, I avoid the water-logged swim-jocks, but he's not a college kid, he's an instructor.

And he's pretty charming.

Especially his shoulders. They are... incredibly charming.

Well, George and I have been messaging back and forth for the last few days.

Even if he is a couple states away, it's nice to engage in

witty, intelligent conversation with a member of the opposite sex.

- The rest of us call that flirting. - I'm not flirting.

Let me see.

- Keeping cool so far this summer? - Not all of us have a career in water sports.

Some of us have to settle for mall air conditioning.

Ouch. Well at least some stores have those massage chairs.

I would reply indignantly but it's difficult from this massage chair. Winky face?!

Ugh! You even flirt lamely!

Reason number 12 as to why Lizzie Bennet is perpetually single.

Seriously, is there actually a list?

Hello! He left you like a gazillion openings!

I am so hot right now. Come over and give me a swimming lesson.

- Ew. That's just gross. - Actually, that's just sent.

- What? No! You--gimme--give me that.

Only if you promise to sit next to Ricky Collins at dinner tonight.

- Wait, he's coming over again? - Yeah, I think he might like you.

You should probably jump on that train before it leaves the station.

- He's engaged. - Engaged ain't married! Am I right?

- Give it to me. - PROMISE!

Fine! Fine. Just... give it to me.

Wait, you di--

You didn't send anything. - SUCKER! NO BACKSIES!

Still dealing with the Ricky Collins situation.

He's over here every day and he wants to talk about work ALL THE TIME

and it's so EXHAUSTING.

Yesterday he had me helping pack up some of his mother's things,

and somehow that turned into a treatise on his company's

"financial earnings" and "quarterly projections."

Is it any wonder that I'm enjoying the virtual company of

George Wickham over the actual company of Ricky Collins?

Oh! Come to think of it, hold on a second.

To lay out exactly why I prefer the virtual company of George Wickham

to the actual company of Ricky Collins, I have brought in the lovely Jane.

Hi everyone. So good to see you.