Love All

Dear Rafa,

I can't stop thinking about you. It is as if my destiny in life has suddenly been served up on a silver platter, or perhaps in a gold urn-like trophy.

Please do not be hurt that you were not on my original Top 5 list. At that time, I didn't really know you. You were merely a friend of a friend, and we had not been properly introduced. On that epic day, when we spent hours just getting to know each other, I finally discovered the real meaning of love.

It's true. I'm in love with your biceps. I know, I know - I'm not ordinarily a muscle-man kind of gal. I don't like beefcakes, but your arms could send a passing shot my way anytime.

Some might say it will never work - me a lawyer in Smalltown, USA, you an international tennis superstar. I say to hell with them; we have lots in common. For instance:

* You, obviously, are very good at tennis. I, currently, am the champion of Wii Tennis on my Wii gaming system.

* You are right handed, but play tennis left-handed. Me too! (Actually, I'm better at all Wii games left handed.)

* You are from Spain. I have been to Barcelona and Madrid, plus I can put back some sangria.

* You speak Spanish. I love accents, particularly from Spain.

* You are known to your friends by a nickname, a shorter version of your name. Me too!

* You travel to England at least once a year to play at Wimbledon. I'm a huge fan of the Brits and we could have lots of fun with their strawberries and cream.

* You are the king of the French Open, having won it, like, 100 times in a row. I was queen of the French Club in high school (ok, so vice-queen if you want to be technical, whatever).

I could go on, but really, there's no need for this. One kiss from me and it will be all over for Xisca. You'll be mine, Game, Set, and Match.

Adios,

Niki