Vladimir. Darling. We have to talk…

Word around the ladies locker room has been unusually biting, and, well, you know me, despite our failed love affair, I remain your greatest fan and staunchest defender. But dear heart, even I can no longer ignore your latest shenanigans. Your once amusing acts of political derring-do have become fodder for the sheep’s long winter of discontent, and trust me love, you don’t want this winter blossoming into a Perestroika Spring.

You see, dearest, you used to be such a dashing, even if occasionally dastardly, lover. But lately, you’ve been skimping on the romance. First, it was that adorably efficient little title-swap with Younger Brother. Then it was the paltry mea-culpas, and pardon my bluntness sweetheart, but that’s the equivalent of delivering carnations when only hot-house orchids will do. But then the real rebuff come in the form of the deaf ear you’ve turned towards your lovers’ complaints. Let’s be frank, Vova, democracy denied is love denied. Which is not only unsexy, but lacks a certain gallantry, and really, Vladimir, you were nothing if not courteous when you were misbehaving during our relationship…


I miss the days when you were devil-may-care about your missteps and were damn forthright about your faults. It was so – so…so very macho, so wonderfully manly, so very Russian... And now? Now you’ve grown defensive, occasionally petulant, and don’t get me wrong, you know I love you just the way you are, but darling, you really need a better and more discreet artist in the “freshening up” department…Think more Paul Newman and less Mickey Rourke, ‘kay?

So for me, darling, please be the shaggable and gorgeous elder statesmen you are capable of being and not the obnoxious, old boor cruising singles clubs less you want this potential coup de grâce morphing into a coup de tat, after Prince Charming’s kiss fails to awaken Sleeping Beauty and awakens something else entirely.

Glad we had this little chat.

Love you. Call me.