The happiest of hellos to all of you cutesie-pie new readers of mine out there in newspaper land! I am Manuelle and I am going to be the newest columnist to grace the Studio of 8  with my extremely handsome presence!

     To my knowledge, a different columnist, Fanner Beeniepants or something like that, was not cutting the mustards around here so I was hand-chosen (oh, don’t be so naughty) by a couple of rugged and delicious-looking talent scouts to take over in her place for a while to add a little bit of my spicy peppers to the mix of this website.

     However, I think my new employers have underestimated my spiciness and the wondrous extent of my pepperness because at times, if I think no one is looking and I want to treat myself to something fanciful, I can become like a fireball of hot furious beauty and anger that just eats away at your stomach until you are almost experiencing death!

     So with all of these pleasantries dispensed and out in the open, allow me to regale you all with a rather entertaining bit of story that occurred to me just the other day on the way to the women’s gym class that I teach on Thursday nights. A brief side note to you all: I love my aerobics girls! They do what I say and when I say and for doing these things, they will all one day look absolutely fabulous! That is the end of that side note.

     You should know and believe in yourself that above all things, Manuelle is a man of dignity and taste. Not only that, I am a man of endless dreamings. But on this particular Thursday afternoon, I was jogging to the gym, which is just around the corner from my bungalow of luxury and classiness when I happened a glance at a shiny silvery car on the side of the road.

     Besides the car was a man of such delightfulness that I felt faint in my knees upon that spot. He was having troubles with his engine and had to bend over many times to figure out what to do with it. I ended my jogging for a few minutes and pretended to be out of breath. (Though I really was in reality!)

     Eventually, he left his engine and walked around to the back of his car. When I saw that fine slice of man strut by me with his Gucci belt and Gucci shoes and shirt untucked just so, I could think of only one thing and that was, “Oh God!” I knew right there and then that I was about to have a mantasy.

     For those of you who do not understand what a mantasy is, it’s basically Manuelle having a fantasy, specifically one that involves a certain man or certain men who either I know or don’t know.

     The mantasy that I engaged in was very lovely, complete, and ginger in its nature, but I am afraid that I cannot delve into it at this time because I must share with you a truth of mine.

     Here is something I want to be straightforward with. I am not very good at discussing conversations with men. That is to say, I am attractive to them and I fancy them likewise, but I cannot make the words come out of my mouth like they do in my head, which is always quite cluttered with many mantasies.

     So this gorgeous man awoke me from my mantasy to inform me that I was sweating from my back and mouth onto his car, which he was not happy with. I became so flustered, that I ran to my gym and made my class full of girls do perhaps more than I had ever made them do. They were very tired and hurt at the end of class. I am rotten and not good for that and I apologize to any of them who may read this, but now they know why I was tearful and short with them that night.

     I have spilt as much of myself as I can tolerate, so I think I am now done for this week. Boo-bye, my lovers!