You didn't know that I knew Latin, too, did you? (Gosh my brain is just bursting with miscellaneous words from all over the globe. Too bad I can't put them into some semblance of order in English.)
Ho ho. I don't really know Latin. That would be my better half, Mr D, who studied it back in the Dark Ages when it was taught at school, and when it was still fairly useful when those Roman legionnaires came to your door to demand Caesar's due.
Mr D is that old. And he's a sexy old dawg, too.
Or maybe I'm mixing things up, and it was only the hottie Little Caesar's pizza boy coming to my door,
looking at me with those delicious brown eyes whilst delivering two large pepperonis with extra cheese and anchovies and asking for $20 plus a tip. I get so confused sometimes, and I'm not very good with money. By the way, that's a picture of Juan, the sexiest pizza guy in Seattle. (If you need his phone number, text me privately. He always delivers, and if you sweet talk him a little, you'll get an extra jalapeno or two on the side. Well worth it.)
But you should know, and commit to heart, the following Latin phrase, drilled into me by my English-teacher, Latin-loving mother. (Does this make it sound like my mother took Latin lovers? Pah! Could not be further from the truth! That was to be, instead, her daughter's area of expertise....)
Ah, but wait! Back to the Latin....
De gustibus non est disputandem...
which means, "In matters of taste, there is no rule..." Or, in contemporary 21st century lingo, "You want it, you got it, girlfriend!"
Or maybe that's kind of a loose translation, but my point is, everyone gets excited about different things. Not that I ever get excited, I'm far too cool for that. I was discussing my taste in men with a friend today, and noted that I'm a cool fan of a well-turned calf on a guy (ooo, legs!), but body hair? Ummm, not so much.
So when you're evaluating your fantasy tennis boyfriend, the one who's going to frown at you in your imagination when you reach for the next Dove chocolate bar, and thus help you with your dieting goals, you have to run through the whole professional roster and check off what you like, and what you can't stand. Because you're worth it, and you get to weigh in with your own professional opinion. You might as well have a disapproving stare from someone you adore, even if it's all only in your mind.
Good legs? Yes.
Tennis ability? Yes.
Championships won? Yes.
Quiet and soulful facial expressions? Yes
Body *cough* *cough* ... hair? Completely NO.
If I wanted to sleep with this, I'd get a poodle.
Actually, I had a big poodle. He was completely adorable, and lovely to snuggle with though his claws were a bit pointy sometimes.
But Pete Sampras? I'm afraid I'd have to take a pass.
Keep up the good work, dieting friends! Everyone seems to be holding their own reasonably well, according to Eleanore's emails. Remember, you can do this!! Maybe just imagine some Pete Sampras hairs in your ice cream. That would put anyone off.
Gak.
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