Memsaab's Amigos

Ok, ok, all right! I GET it! You like her better than you like me. Ever since the Memsaab Helena filled in for me HERE and HERE, I’ve been opening my e-mail box to find eleventy-one messages for her, and two SPAM mails for me. Hey, I don’t blame you — I like her better than I like me, too. But if you’re gonna keep writing those thinly veiled love letters, guys, send ’em direct to her okay? My bruised ego is so fragile …

You haven’t heard her voice or met her in person, but you’ve read her words and seen that drawing, so now you might understand why I can’t write about my life without writin’ about my wife, and that gets kinda scented with a certain “sensual undercurrent.” That’s ’cause she’s sorta soaked in sensual undercurrent. Overcurrent, too — an’ some rip currents. Okay, she’s more like a Sensual Tsunami. See, it’s less like I’m “married” to a “spouse” than like I’m “hard-wired” to a six-foot, redheaded, babyblue- eyed “Source of Primal Energy.” She’s my rudder and my running lights, folks, and you got a glimpse of why.

I haven’t been reading your e-mails to her, but my eyes have fallen across a few — (dozen) — and I can answer some of your most frequent questions. Like, NO, she does NOT have an unmarried sister — twin, older, younger, whatever, and if you’d read her article instead of staring at the artwork, you’d know that. Yes, our marriage is doin’ just fine, thank you; yes, I’m in good health and not expectin’ to become null and void anytime soon, nor likely to walk in front of any speeding busses, and now I’m gonna be watching for guys like you trying to shove me in front of one … I’m not angry about that, like I said, I understand. But here’s something you really should know about her.

Accurate? Hah! No Way!

So, hordes of you have asked, “How accurate is Sequoia Blankenship’s drawing of The Memsaab?” I gotta tell you guys, it’s not accurate at all. First, she has never, to my knowledge, worn gauntlets above her gloves. Second, she favors ankle-height boots. Third, she never has rolled cuffs on her hiking shorts. Finally, that 1911 clearly looks disproportionately large on her almost two-meter frame, and … Her hair usually has a little more wave and curl to it. Umm … Other than that, well, yeah, it’s … pretty accurate. The relative tightness of those shorts is questionable too, but she’s got this one pair that — well, skip it. All right, she’s smart, tough, an’ gorgeous, now drop it, okay? Man, this “refutation and rebuttal” thing didn’t go quite the way I intended.

And another thing: Despite your ardent requests, she still refuses to consider allowing photos of herself in magazines. She has changed her position though, from “When pigs take wing and Roy-Boy starts dancing at Chippendales,” to a wink and a “Maybe … Someday.” She sends her regrets and fond regards, and … this.

Bein’ the woman she is, and travelin’ in the circles she does, The Memsaab makes some “unusual” lady friends, and Galina — “Gala” to her hand-picked pals — certainly qualifies as “different.” Let’s just say, she used to work for The Wrong Guys, and now she teaches our guys how their worst nightmares operate.

Last time we discussed the photo question, Galina was visiting, showin’ off a new IR aiming/illumination device, if that gives you some clues. Gala listened to Helena’s refusal, smiled, twinkled her hazel 20-13 sniper-eyes, and said, “Kah-norr, EH wull eh-pirr en zhoor megguh-zinns, weh-rink eh mesk!” Translated from her butter-thick ex-Soviet commie skull-shooter accent, that means, “Connor, I will appear in your magazines, wearing a mask!”

With Helena’s nod, I took Galina up on it. I’m forever faithfully wedded to The Memsaab’s big blues, but ya gotta admit, a man could fall into Gala’s eyes and drown, huh? Now, can I get back to some regular gunwritin’? Gee, thanks.

Connor OUT