I was in Shoppers yesterday, and as I stood at the check out watching my lady scan a multitude of things I will not admit to here, I glanced at the magazine rack. Before my divorce, I subscribed to tons of magazines. After the divorce, the only one I still read was Vanity Fair. Yes, I know, I know. Parts of it are unbearable; but they have some fabulous writers who track people falling off of mountains, or planes colliding in midair. And Christopher Hitchens. And many of their pullings apart of people like John McCain are awesome. I like European scandals; I don't give a crap how Lindsay is doing in rehab. Sorry. I'm harsh.
Back on topic. Johnny Depp was staring at me. Yes, me. I scooted over and grabbed a copy, and told my lady "Johnny is going home with me."
She sighed, and said "oh, yes.". There was a line up behind me. I kid you not. Every woman from 25 to 70 sighed at the same time. I don't know what it is, but Johnny Depp is That Guy.
I also bought bubble bath.