I was sorting my in-box (not a euphemism) and found this email Jeff sent me last year. Too cute not to share! (The email I mean, not Jeff.)
Oh do you remember sweet
She's sometimes a Stoic and sometimes a Jew,
And sometimes a vixen who rides on the trains,
Asking men what they're reading and clouding their brains.
She lives with her multiform psittacine friends,
And to their quotidian needs she attends,
Bananas and cashews for Clemmie and Butch
(Pearl, Smitty, and Jonesy get not quite so much).
And don't forget Lulu, the Havanese pup
Who barks if the water's too low in her cup,
And pitches a fit when you come through the door,
And once took a shit on the Time-Warner floor!
Sweet Dixie wears Diane von Furstenberg wraps
And tank-tops and flip-flops (but NOT baseball caps).
The spots of the leopard are pinstripes to her,
So long as the garment is not real fur!
Sweet Dixie's affectionate, funny and smart,
And lives in a riot of tchotchkes and art,
And loves fifties clothing and flour-based food
And plays the accordion when in the mood.
She reads the philosophers, classic and pop,
And dances the Shorty George and Lindy Hop,
And runs around Central Park by several routes,
And goes to the gym to blast hams, delts and glutes.
She trolls the flea market for vintage couture,
And sometimes goes out for a dark manicure,
And has her hair blow-dried to make is less curled,
And I am the luckiest man in the world -
For Dixie picked me on the Brooklyn-bound R
And gave me her e-mail as she left the car,
And answered my letters with humor and charm,
And said, "Yes!" to pancakes and leaned on my arm.
And that is my story of Dixie LaRue,
Who brightened my winter and broke my streak, too,
And won't dress in run-of-the-mill underwear,
And speeds up my heartbeat by just standing there.