Nice "kiss of death" there, Julia. Now I have to spend three nites prancing about in the attic, wearing a goofy Belgian hat and screaming "fresh green cheese" at the top of my lungs - all to unravel your stupid voodoo thread and to appease the Gods of tennis.
Hail Mary Pierce, full of grace and stalling, the French crowd is with thee. Blessed art thou among the French Federation, and blessed is the fruit of they womb, tremendous groundstrokes. Mary Pierce, Mother of Stalling, don't spray your groundies, now at this hour of your 3rd Major. Amen.