Fatwah-hot. As in, the lady jogging down Manor in the bike lane as Lopez and I turned the corner from Randolph to Merrie Lynn. Fit, tan, and with a long runner’s body, she totally convinced me that jogging in the opposite direction of the bike lane is an absolutely brilliant idea. Fatwah-hot can roll off the tongue. It says, Allah has spoken through my male and arguably sexually repressed self, and He has proclaimed thee Smokin’.
Furthermore, the phrase can play upon itself in elitist, Western European fashion, ala Fatwah-häute, by which the jogger of my day dreams tomorrow is proclaimed as Fancifully Steamy.
I sincerely hope she runs into me sometime.
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