Oh, I know what all you boys are thinking. But She is not some doe-eyed supermodel, some waifer-thin waif with a waist as big as the cap on a gatorade bottle. She is not some blonde Argentinian who knows three words of English, two of which are "more" and "cocaine". (The third may be "sucky-sucky", which only counts as one.) No, she is not some seven-foot anorexic who has to have titanium rods attached up her spinal column so that her head and neck will not flop over onto her shoulders all the time like that first inch of toothpaste out of the tube.
She is Nigella Lawson, of the BBC Channel 4 program Nigella Bites, and her womanhood--by which I mean her pulsating sensuality, not her vagina--makes all these tiny twig-women seem like the sexless 10-year-old boys these degenerate designers really want them to be.

Nigella Lawson is an Oxford-educated journalist who is steeped in Medieval languages and Literature and who has written for all the major English news publications, on subjects ranging from food criticism to opinion to the benefits of sleeping with overweight American men. (Ok, I made the last one up, but someday she will certainly write the definitive article/book on the subject, and then won't there be a countryful of regretful skanks that day?)

I discovered her a few months back, but my work schedule--the PCP won't sell itself--and my volunteer time at the Hospital--pumping questionable fluids from the bodies of professional athletes--prevented me from actually watching an entire episode of her show. Well, this morning I saw it, and let me just say that I now own two pairs of pants with ruined zippers. (Yes, two.) Not only is she absolutely gorgeous in the way that women are supposed to be, all pillowy and soft and pale and curvaceous--nay, voluptuous--but she has the ability, which apparently all American women lack, to look into the camera, smile, wink, and lick strawberry juice from her fingers while making you wonder why you haven't read Piers Plowman since college. (Oh, yeah, Plow it baby, plow it...damn. Three zippers.)

Nigella is what we here in the Dirty South refer to as a "thick" girl, which means, roughly, she has the normal shape of a woman enhanced in all the right places. In other words, a "round thing in your face" that will most assuredly make you "get sprung".

Her show, which I suppose I should make some mention of, as this is a review of a TV program, is called Nigella Bites, and god I can only hope so. In it, she does all the same things that all other cooking-show hosts do, except in this circumstance her food actually looks good. Today she made some kind of chicken with hot pepper syrup poured over it, and then she went on to pour that same syrup over ice cream, during which she quipped "I love it when something hot is poured over something sweet."
Holding...holding...okay. I'm good...fuck!

Damn. Four zippers.

With her smokey dark eyes and her raven-black hair flowing into curls that bounce against her alabaster skin like night-waves against the prow of some pale Viking ship, Nigella manages to be sultry, intelligent, and Fucking Goddamn Super-Hot all at the same time. She tends to wear jackets and long skirts that accentuate her curves and hide her weight simultaneously. In photos, you are apt to find her sitting behind a counter bedecked with various colorful food items, as she is admittedly a "stress eater" and slightly uncomfortable with her hips and that which they frame, that area that I imagine as a downy soft wonderland of snow-white skin and wild black tangles of...

Jesus. I'm just gonna switch to button-fly.

In closing, let it be said that I will find her, and she will be mine, and she will cook delicious meat and spice dishes for me while I infiltrate her womanhood--you know what I mean this time--and bring her to a dizzying pinnacle of bliss like she's never before experienced, as she screams my name and, delirious with pleasure, moans out, in Middle English, some obscure sex poem written by some horny monk from long ago that extolls the virtues of the truly gorgeous woman, the voluptuous maiden with the come-hither eyes and the kind of gently rounded pillow of femininity that a man could bury his head in and dream...