I had a surreal dream the other night.
(impressive because I don’t usually dream) that I’m pretty sure featured some famous actor type in it. Nope I’m not going to share the details because a) having three kids has destroyed my brain and I can’t remember who he was (there are no words to describe how cheated I feel by this…NO words) b) even if I could remember the details, it would be just my luck that my mother or one of my kids’ teachers or that helpful lady at the bank who I probably shouldn’t have mentioned my blog to, would read this post and be slightly stunned by the revelation. Of course, knowing my dumb luck, nothing exciting even happened and he probably just changed my car’s tyre or told me where the washing powder aisle was at the supermarket (because only in dreams do weird things like that happen).
Anyway, my mind wandered a bit and I got to thinking about this motley crew.
Okay, perhaps my mind wandered a bit too far.. I am married after all. Married, in fact, to a man who trumps all of these guys (I have to say this because that nice lady at the bank might miss this post but HE won’t). It turns out, they’re no threat because the more I thought about it, the more I realised it just wouldn’t work out between me or any of them. No, it’s not because one of them’s young enough to be my son and one of them’s old enough be my dad. Or the small fact that they’re all screamingly famous so I wouldn’t stand a chance anyway. Stop coming up with your own theories, thank you very much Now, do you really want to know why? Of course you do!
So here are some confessions…
Warning: get the blood pressure tablets ready.
Oh Bradders. Why so orange? I’ll tell you why: Too much fricking fake tan. Silly boy.
You are THE man. But how can I put this? We’re from physiologically different origins. Basically, you’d hurt me.
Yeah, you’re gorgeous with that yummy accent of yours plus the fact that you’re a fellow Brit helps. But how I can I take you seriously, when you wear your underpants over your clothes, mon cher Henri?
First, you’re gay. Second, even if you weren’t, there’s no way I’m changing my name to Bomer. Because Boner. Sorry mate but I can’t keep a straight face over things that aren’t even half that funny.
Oh Adam ADAM! Of all the men in all the world… YES, YES, YES! I mean I just know you wrote Animals and Sugar for me, you lovely man. (Thanks awfully by the way.) But all those tattoos…I’d just get distracted and stop in the middle of ‘proceedings’ to read you.
Here’s the thing…I would. But you’re all loved up with that Eva. Now, I may be a strong Punjabi woman but man those Latina girls… I’m no match. All fiery temper and hypnotic wiggly hips. Nah. Not worth the headache, mate.
Once upon a time. Yes, defo. You could have been my very own Pirate of the Mediterranean. (See what I did there?). Now? You look like you need a shower JD.
I just have this weird feeling we’d never leave the house. Not because of non stop rabbit-like activity. But because you look so well groomed I don’t think you ever leave the bathroom much less the bedroom. Be a love and move along now.
Hey Jude (I know…me so original). Look I don’t blame you. It’s just that receding hairline. Now I admit my beloved Hubster hath no hair (what can I say…I think the stress of meeting me made it all fall out). But he was like that from early on so no surprises there. But you Jude on the other hand, YOU won me over in the 90’s and noughties with that full head of hair. Alas, now you’ve lived up to your name and it turns out you’re a proper JUDAS for letting it fall out, mate. Okay, so maybe I do blame you.
Because you’d break my heart. I’ve always known it. And besides, I’d fall asleep waiting for you to get out of that damned red metal suit thing judging by how many times it malfunctioned in Iron Man 3 (seriously man it took f-o-r-e-v-e-r ). Can’t. Deal.
You really do seem like a nice guy and all. But there’s just no room in my life for someone with that amount of hair product. NO ROOM you hear me? Plus I reckon I’m old enough to be your mum. #AintNoCougar
Not it’s not the most recent pic but it’s a good one ha ha. Have to admit I’m tempted because a) I want to relive that Jerry Maguire scene and tell you to show me the money (seriously show me the money right now) b) I’m RIDONKulously excited at the thought of not needing a step stool just to reach you as you’re barely taller than me. But that megawatt smile of yours. Soooo 80’s. Sooo over it.
Mr Neeson…oh Mr Neeson…honestly I’d love to. You’re a man’s man. That gravelly voice. Those brooding eyes. I love that. And that accent. Oh God help me.
But you see I’m… wait for it…
Drops mic. Exits stage left.
P.S. Please note Justin Timberlake and Dave Grohl have been omitted for a reason…I’m still clinging to hope.