THINK BIG, KEMO SABE

I was sitting in my easy chair after eating my $5.00 pizza from Little Caesar's and I was flipping through the channels, trying to find some sports on the tube, when I had to stop and pick up my jaw from the floor. It had dropped, you see. I knew why. The answer came in the form of a lanky blonde 19-year-old Russian tennis player named Maria Sharapova. After picking up my jaw from the floor and reattaching it to my skull (I got it off the floor before the 5-second rule expired--no worries!) I began to plan our lives together. She's in Australia right now, competing in the aptly-named Australian Open, but, never fear, I'll wait for her. All she's got to do is give me a jingle on my cell. I'll wait for her.

I will wait for her.

Now, before You Who Read start getting all gasp-y and oh no-y and "He's a stalker"-y, let me disabuse ye of that thought process-y. I'm not a stalker. No, not me. I simply know what is meant to be and I am a strong believer in the proverb, "Let nothing stand in the way of your dreams." Maria is my dream and I dream of Maria. They are tame dreams, never you worry. They are dreams in which Maria and I take Louie on walks through fields of daffidols and poppies and they are dreams in which I smooch her softly on her smooth tanned cheeks and tell her how much I care for her before I spread the picnic blanket and pull out the weiners and put them in the buns. They are sweet dreams in which rabbits are ubiquitous and eggs seem to always flit from the periphery. These are tame dreams, I assure you. Why will you not believe me?

("Listen not to the beating of the hideous heart! Dissemble no more!")

These are tame dreams.

In no dreams did I forcibly take her; in no dreams did I cover her in hot fudge and take my time, savoring the chocolate. I tell you this: In no dreams did I play strip tennis with her and lose on purpose. (Because, you know, I could beat her in tennis, if I really tried. The only way she could beat me is if my bad shoulder started acting up and, then, she'd barely beat me.) In no dreams--none, I say!--did I train my tongue to speak the fluent Russian language of love: "Perostroika! Borscht! Glasnost! Da!"

These were tame dreams and I will wait for her. And that's my story, and that's the bottom line; and I'm sticking to both.

I'm sure that she dreams of me, as well. Well, why wouldn't she? We are virtual soul-mates. We were meant to be together. Forget age. So what that I have 14 years on her? Age is a number, doggone it!

And, again, take this not as a misguided fantasy of a sickened mind. Take this not as megalomaniacal delusions of grandeur. I believe it when I say it: I will marry Maria. She will be happy and content and will bear me three children, two boys and a girl, and Louie will grow old and fat and content with us, his favourite place on the floor underneath our love-crossed legs. Please allow me to break down...wait, I didn't finish!

Please allow me to break down why She is for me and Me equals We:

1. She's athletic and I'm athletic.

2. She's 6'2" and I'm 5'8". Add the numbers up. She equals 8 and I equal 13. 8 is double-infinity and 13 is a feared number. People fear infinity because their minds cannot wrap around it--it is too vast an idea. Thus we share fear. And the double is just a throw-in. I mean, Jesus, there are two of us, for God's sake!

3. She grunts on every forehand, and I've been known to do the same--just a different sport, you see.

4. I'm athletic and she's athletic.

5. We both come from countries that, in the past, have been referred to as "Super Powers."

Need I continue? Or don't you see why Maria and I are a match made in Heaven? If you don't see it, you're blind. Irregardlessly, I'll give you a couple more reasons.

6. She has three vowels in her first name and I have two. That corresponds intimately with the difference in our height. You know?

7. (Lucky number 7.) I heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from a cousin's girlfriend who heard it from her aunt's hairstylist that Maria's uncle's brother's sister heard it from an acquaintance that Maria had a crush on me. And, seriously, who could blame her?

I'll send you all tickets when we establish a date to wed. I'll keep you posted, okay?