VANCOUVER -- Oh, the Winter Games have got me thinking terrible thoughts. Not the kind of terrible thoughts that a lot of those terrible international writers are thinking: About how the unfortunate death of the Georgian athlete was the result of Own the Podium fast-track fervour, or how Vancouver's homeless have been rousted and shipped to the far end of the city. No, sweetheart, my terrible thoughts are terrible in a good way.

I've been thinking, for instance, how lucky we are to be living in a country where winter sports are such an important part of our lives, and how, because of them, we are free to express ourselves in a way that other nations -- at least the warm ones where people play slow games -- cannot. As a result, I need to ask you something, my darling little seal pup. I hope I'm not being too forthright, but here it is: honey, I want to curl with you.

It would be my dream. Me and you on a cold sheet of ice, a bottle of rye whisky between us, both of us in skirts, holding brooms. Oh, how I love to hear you scream in ecstasy as you push that stone up the middle of the ice, legs splayed as you watch me whisk my broom along the length of the long cold pad. And all of those people, looking at us! And other players, too -- teams of four doing it at the same time. Baby, the notion of a bonspiel sends hot shivers up my spine, and up other places, too.

Oh, darling, please.

Curl with me!

If you find all of this a little too daring, sweetheart, how about the two-person luge? You scissored between my legs -- or me scissored between yours, if you like it that way -- cascading down an icy ramp, the freezing wind tickling our hot places. And more people, watching us! Folks who aren't Canadian talk about how warm weather games are the most romantic, but they're so close-minded. With the exception of the walk-off home run hug, there's just nothing erotic about baseball. Tennis? Too great a distance between the players, unless you count coy glances across the net. Football? It's sado-masochistic, maybe, but that's not my thing. Is it yours? If it is, I would let you tie me to the luge. Yes, dear, for you I would do this.

Oh, darling, please.

Luge with me!

If you don't want to do this, how about pairs figure skating? I don't know if you've noticed, but there's lots of bum-touching in figure skating. Those moments where the fellow in the florid, rhinestone blouse is holding up his stockinged partner by her bum as she antlers her legs in the air? That really gets me going. And inside the rink, more and more and more people watching! And so cold! Our hot bodies pounding against the unrelenting winter air. We are free! We are wild! We are Canadian!

Oh, darling, please!

Figure skate with me!

If none of this tickles your fancy, would you consider playing hockey with me? We could sneak into a foul-smelling dressing room, remove our clothes, and strap garters and a cup to our waists, looking like Lady Gaga while singing her songs and pounding our wooden sticks in rhythm. Then, we could go on the ice and reverse the routine. I could grab you and pull off your sweater, and then you could pull off mine. Then our shoulder straps and elbow pads would be hanging off our arms as we hugged and danced and hugged and danced in front of 17,000 people! At the end of this pas de deux, we would tenderly lean our heads together before embracing, closing with a long northern kiss.

Oh, darling, please!

Play hockey with me!