My Darling Cristina,
I’ll admit I’ve adored other presidents before you. It’s no secret that I’ve lusted after Rafael Correa’s sun kissed body as it emerged, wet and glistening, from the waters of the Pacific like some primal man-Venus on a Guayaquileño half-shell. But, mi amor, this time is different, and it may just be for keeps.
I won’t lie. When I’d heard you’d taken a principled, daring stand against the despised Bush Regime your first week in office, I was afraid. “Take caution!” I cried out (on the inside). “Messing with the empire is a dangerous business!” But you knew better. You always seem to.
Fear, however, quickly turned to arousal as you exposed as basura the yanqui politics that seek to “subordinate’ other nations, and restated your solidarity with the Bolivarian Republic. So passionate, so honest, so fiery. At that moment you could not have better embodied total Latina womanhood had you been wearing a bowl of fruit on your head. I mean that, my love.
Yet you are not afraid to show a tender side. The Associated Press noted that you were shaken, “visibly angry,” even, when you were forced to explain how U.S. unilateralism “has only created tragedy, pain and insecurity in the contemporary world.” Like the beguiling fan-wielding Geisha-Cristina in the portrait, you are equal parts beautiful and aloof, vital yet inaccessible. A dangerous woman.
Frankly, I even admire the pluck your soon-to-be-cuckolded husband demonstrated yesterday by reinforcing your—our—beliefs in public, although to my ear they sounded a bit…desperate, the sound of a husband who knows he no longer truly possesses his wife. Such a loyal man. Poor Nestor.
But it was today, mi paloma, when you took steps to restrict the movements of the US ambassador within Buenos Aires, that you won my soul as well as my heart. I know that one day it will be my own movements that are restricted, as you strap me firmly, permanently (yet gently, so as not to bruise), to the four post bed of your steely will.
Until destiny brings us together, my love. I remain,
PS: You’ll forgive me if I refuse to refer to you by the harsh Teutonic surname of your one-day-former spouse. For now and always, my love, you are, simply, Cristina Argentina. XXXOOO
PPS: In case you missed some of the nuances of my native tongue, my pet, my pledge of devotion has been translated.
