An open letter to my future husband:
Dear Ryan Reynolds,
I think you're pretty. Probably the prettiest person I've ever seen. And when I say "pretty," I mean "so hot I want to die because your sexiness is literally making my eyeballs explode." In a good way, though.
And, you're also kind of adorable in a little boy, goofy, dumb puppy sort of way. Don't worry, that's totally a compliment.
I know you're married. And if I was completely morally bankrupt that wouldn't even bother me. But instead of becoming a mistress, here's why I propose that you divorce She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and marry me instead (see, I have scruples):
1. I make really good omelets. Like really good. People who don't even like eggs have been known to crave my omelets. So yeah, that good. And I would serve you in bed. Naked. Every day.
2. I'm not famous. No need to worry about me shacking up with a co-star or the paps snapping photos of my goodies as they hide outside our house in the trees. The only goodies the paps will be trying to get a shot of are yours. And let's face it, your goods are the only ones that matter.
3. See what I just did there? I said, "your goods are the only ones that matter." Because I'm selfless. In bed.
4. I'm pretty low-maintenance. I don't need lots of jewelry or designer clothes. I just need you. Naked. In bed. Maybe with some omelets.
5. I'm semi-funny and will be able to make you laugh. In bed. And not in bed. Almost everywhere.
6. I might not be as attractive as ScarJo but I promise I'm not Marla Hooch. Which means that your kids would still be cute. And just for you, I will pop as many babies out of my vag as you want. Because that's the kind of nice person I am.
I understand if you need some time to break it to Scarlett. I'll be here when you're ready.
All my love,