A message to Candace Parker

Ohh, Candace.

I can't stop thinking about you. I mean it. I've watched that clip of you dunking last night sixty-five times. The first forty-two times, I watched it on my phone, where I recorded it myself. Did you see me out there last night? Section 117, Row 8, Seat 21. That was me, your biggest fan. Then my phone battery died, so I watched it twenty-two more times in my head. And then I watched it once more on a slide projector.

Candace--I want to meet you. I won't lie. I've been with all kinds of women. Women who can crochet. Women who can throw knives. Women who can contort themselves into a tiny ball that fits in a small duffle bag. Women who can do that trick where they tie a cherry stem into a knot with their teeth. But never a woman who can dunk.

I don't care that Lisa Leslie beat you to it. You may be the second woman in the WNBA to dunk, but you can still be the first to dunk on me, if you know what I mean. That's innuendo, Candace.

And you don't even have to travel far to find me. Naperville isn't but a thirty-minute drive from me. I can pick you up when you come home for the offseason. Or better yet, you can pick me up, since you probably have a nicer ride, even on a WNBA salary and WNBA endorsements. We could dine at the Signature Room and ride the ferris wheel at Millenium Park. It'll be great!

Candace, I know a part of you has always wanted a reclusive, intellectual by your side. And I've always wanted a woman who can dunk. I think we were made for each other.

<3 <3 <3 XOXOXO