There but for The Grace

I know we are supposed to be objective and impartial and disinterested (which means “having no vested interest”, people, not  having no interest. That’s being uninterested) and in general, we journalists are not supposed to be falling head over heels in love with the subjects of our stories.
But dude. Have you ever met Grace?
I mean, have you ever been within her blast radius? It’s one thing at a concert, but it’s another completely when you are within close firing range and the potency of her fwine can do actual damage.
Readers, I was two feet away from her. She sat in the drivers seat of her whateverluxury4wd it was, her manager was in the passenger seat, I was in the window. You know that as an entertainment journalist (well, retired, but few people know that) managers tend to holler at me when they see me walking past their star’s vehicles.
We talked shop with the manager for a minute then she got off her iPhone to face me.
And I knew right then what zagizeezayi zagizeezayi meant exactly.
You know a chick who actually looks as good as her photoshopped pictures?
There she was with her head, a small ellipse of perfect facial construction underneath a frame of the finest ebony tresses money can buy.
I am going to be head over heels in love for the next 34 minutes (that’s how long it takes before
my journalistic integrity returns).