Dear Helen,

Tuesday, 28 June 2011

Thank God Nadal won, today.
He had a slight injury, in the first set, and stretched his magnificent legs out for the trainer. As a result, one could study these legs up close. (A purely aesthetic pleasure for me, of course.)
The atrocity about tennis has been, since many years, the change from normal short shorts (as God meant them to be) to the hideous baggy things the boys drape over their rectus femoris and gracilis muscles, these days. (No, dear, the ‘rectus’ in rectus femoris has nothing to do with what you’re thinking.)
Aren’t the sponsors worried about losing the female audience?
But you know how I always recover from the disappointments in my life. Especially when that splendid specimen of a Spaniard arrived on the scene – excuse the alliteration. What a thoroughly deserving physique! You know how I am normally a leg woman, and his are simply commendable. I’m also, to some extent, a chest woman – and I will go on the record as saying that Rafi’s chest, revealed when he changes into a clean t-shirt, is entirely beyond reproach.
Just the right amount of hair – too little chest hair induces sadness in me, as you know – but too much of it can put one entirely off one’s feed. Remember Sam Gotthardt? Daniel went to Greece with him, last year. They shared a hotel room, and when Sam undressed, Daniel found himself thinking: “Could evolution be true, after all?”
Our descent from apes  (oh goodness, wouldn’t Faber scream at me – “there’s only a common ancestor”; but I don’t care much for such academic distinctions), our descent from apes, I say, should not be too obvious in a man. Don’t you rather agree? It’s been proven, incidentally, that we have on average 4% of Neanderthal blood in our veins. Averages don’t mean much – I’m quite sure I have none, and that some people are close to 99%. I won’t mention names – but don’t you think it’s time to trade Scott in for a newer model, dear?
Anyway, Helen – Burke is genuinely worried I will try to get a date with Nadal. I suppose the dear man still thinks of me as 23 – isn’t that lovely? Mind you, I could still beat that young Spanish girl of Nadal’s, hands down. But I prefer not to.
I adore boys. But the truth of the matter is, and don’t ever tell Burke, that I can fall, emotionally, only for older men with personality disorders. And these days, I’m just not so sure that I feel like having sex without ‘feelings’. Well – now and then, of course, but not on a daily basis.
Incidentally – I haven’t yet cheated on Burke. What is the appropriate time, in a relationship, when one should start thinking about doing that? I always feel it’s rather de rigueur to observe a certain period of exclusivity, a little time set aside for one’s mate, only. But at 8 months into this thing, I’m getting a little jumpy…

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