InceliBertram

I will frankly admit that I was in the stickiest of wickets.  I was dashed tight around the collar, if you take my meaning.  But it’s always darkest before Jeeves solves the problem, as the poet guy says.

Due to an unfortunate concatentation of circs, I found myself engaged to a female specimen and was much afeared that my, ah, existing fiancee would take objection were the tea to be spilled to her about the fiancee of the second part.  But just when the good ship Bertram was being tossed like nothing on this sea of troubles, out pops good ol’ Jeeves who explained to the young person that his Master was a dashing young man about town, gallant, handsome, and always inadvertently getting engaged to the opposite sex, merely as deep cover for being an incel.  One can scarcely credit it, but apparently the gal in question was led to believe that my chic W1 flat is located in my mother’s basement.  Dashed improbable, it seems to me, but Jeeves assures me that this particular fiction was the crowning fiction, the fiction that broke the engagement’s back and set me free.

These incel chappies seem to be rather disliked.