When The Beautiful Judy Licht reads this she's going to kill me. But I can't help myself. I have to tell the world how I feel.
This is so embarrassing. I'm in love.
One minute I was drinking a cup of coffee and reading the New York Post then the next minute I saw her picture.
I couldn't catch my breath. She is so beautiful.
She's everything I always wanted in a woman.
She has that wonderful determined look.
Those eyes. Those dark smoldering eyes that say, "I'm going to get you"
I know that under the Schemata she wears on her head -- her hair is lustrous and beautiful.
Her name is a name so beautiful it rolls off my tongue and I want to sing it out to the world: Ruzanna Ibragimova.
Of course, as it always is with love, there is a problem.
Ruzanna Ibragimova is a Black Widow. She's a suicide bomber who's the widow of an Islamic militant who blew himself up, too, thereby prompting a new twist on the old saying, "The family that prays together stays together."
In this case it's "The family that blows it self up together, rarely stays together."
The barrier between Ruzanna Ibragimova and me are the explosives she's got taped to her body and the fact that she is looking to blow herself up along with a lot of people at the Winter Olympics in Sochi Russia.
I didn't say she was smart, I said she was beautiful.
So my question is do I travel to the Winter Olympics in Russia, a country I detest, and see if I can find Ruzanna Ibragimova and get her to change her hostile wacky ways?
I fantasize searching for her through her hometown of Dagestan -- Dagestan is to suicide bombers what The Bronx is to The Bronx Bombers.
So let's say I meet her and turn on the old Della Femina charm with woman. And let's say she succumbs. So in my fantasy we move to a sexy bombed out area in Dagestan. We kiss. I reach behind the ton of clothes these people wear to unhook her bra and being the klutz that I am, I set off the bomb. Should I ever survive the blast you could bet my first words would be, "Was it good for you?"
I must admit for me dying would be a lot more appealing than going to the Winter Olympics. I must confess I hate the Winter Olympics. I always have.
First of all, there are too many foreigners involved with the Winter Olympics. Guys with name like Hans, Fritz and Olaf are beating guys with good old American names like Tom, Bill and Joe. Why? Because these pushy foreigners have us competing against them in the sports they clearly do best. I'm talking about sports where you ski off the top of a mountain and there's a good chance that when you land, if you're lucky, all you're going to do is break your fool neck. Show me a sport that depends on guys jumping off mountains on skis into snow and I'll show you a sport that belongs in a country filled with suicidal depressives like Norway.
It's disgusting that second-rate countries like Lower Slovenia, where the kids are born with skis on their feet (which, I might add, is the reason why every family in Lower Slovenia has just one child), are able to take gold medals away from the United States, the greatest country in the world.
It was the sporting events that turned me off. First of all, I object to the overt sexuality in the naming of these events. I have always thought that the "Men's Giant Slalom" is a title better suited for a porno movie than an Olympic event.
As for the event they call the "Men's Half pipe," I don't even want to guess what that competition is all about. And can someone please tell me when sledding became "The Luge?" Also, why does going down a sheet of hard ice, head first, at 70 miles an hour qualify you for a gold medal instead of a psychiatric examination?
To make matters worse we have to deal with the evil Vladimir V. Putin, the President of Russia who is disgusting in his hatred of gays. A hatred, I must add, that will destroy the U.S. Men's figure skating team's chances to win a medal.
But I digress. This is not about the Winter Olympics. This is about my love for the lovely Ruzanna Ibragimova.
And let's say Ruzanna and I make it back to the Hampton's. The only positive will be that on the single most crowded summer weekend, with Ruzanna wearing her best summer Black Widow outfit, she and I can stroll hand in hand into any packed restaurant – The Palm, Nick and Toni's, The East Hampton Grill -- and we can be sure they will make plenty of room for us even without our having a reservation.
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