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I'm watching Casablanca for the elevntry-seventh time and I'm reminded of the profound conversation I had with my unilingual Japanese father-in-law in which we agreed that Ingrid Bergman in 1942 was the the second most beautiful woman in the world. 

We differed, only slightly, over who was the most beautiful, but in time he conceded I might be right, but that her mother was a very close second. I stand by my pick.

 

For the record, I have no idea who that skinny, brown-haired goateed kid is, but GODDAMN, that is the nee-plus ultra of what we talk about when we talk about beautiful women. 

And sometimes, even after more than 20 years of my bullshit, she even makes coffee in the morning. Clearly, I was born lucky.