An Open Letter to Hugh Jackman

Dear Hugh,

Needless to say, I love you. I mean LOOOVE you.  With all the passion that a 40 something mother of 3 can muster, my loins ache when they see your shoulder muscles flex in a wife beater.  My breasts heave when I see your taut stomach as you run along on the beach in your sensible swim trunks with your adorable/adoring/adored toddler giggling ahead of you.  My fingers itch to run through your shoulder length/short/long strands of hair.  Hugh – who makes even that bizarre Wolverine hair don’t a do.

Oh Hugh! My fierce Wolverine! My Aussie dream! My singing and dancing Oprah show daredevil!  You are the end all/be all for women (and quite a few men) from Timbuktu to Iceland.  You are our Hugh.  We love you because you do not run to fat in between movies.  We love you because you can play a flamboyent gay song and dance man and never worry that it’s too sissy.  We love you because you can go on SNL and embarrass yourself without embarassing yourself.  Oh how we love that!

You are the world’s Hugh and because of that, We have certain requests.

  1.  We are/have been/hope to be married, so we understand that marriage is not easy.  So of course we do not request that you never divorce.  Divorce happens, even possibly to our Hugh.  Although we don’t understand how that woman wouldn’t chain herself to your ankle if it came to that.  But if you do divorce and if you do decide you need to get out and have a friend, please let her be within 15 years of your age at that time and please let her have a job that does not include waitress or model or stripper in the title. (Exceptions – old models/waitresses) (Non-exceptions – old strippers).  She can be an actress and she can be pretty but we’re talking Charlize here – no former or present Disney girls.  No “actress” best known for her work on a straight to DVD feature titled “Chainstorm!” or “Brazil 3000.”
  2. Please do not turn drunk and racist.  We’ll say no more.
  3. Think Paul Newman.  Think Cary Grant.  There’s a reason we can turn on the t.v. and watch Towering Inferno all the way through and it’s not for the special effects. The Philadelphia Story was made over 70 years ago and we still sigh whenever Cary comes on screen.
  4. Don’t do stuff that makes your adorable toddler turn around and write a tell-all in 20 years.  If you drink, do it in a pleasant manner and be an endearingly drunk dad.  Don’t beat them no matter how much they do seem to deserve it at the time.
  5. Age.  In that, we mean try to age gracefully.  I would rather say “I haven’t seen Hugh in a few years but, wow, look at that picture, he’s gotten old,” than “is that Hugh Jackman or a bloated Asian look-alike?” or “I think he’s supposed to be sad in this part but I can’t really tell.”
  6. Age gracefully.  I said that before but I’ll say it again.  Don’t become the old man at the club trying to party with your 22 year old kids.  Ugh.

In closing, we love you.  We know you are human.  Just don’t turn into an ass.

Also the following is an additional thank you from Squee1313 for Real Steel:

Thank you for participating in a family film. Under this guise I can rent the movie, watch it with my family, and make it appear that I have taken an opportunity to bond with my son through our shared love of science fiction.

But, Hugh, we both know the truth. Robots-schmobots. Boxing-schmoxing. Plot-schmot. I’m here for you and you alone, for every bicep bulging, pectoral flexing, 36-inch inseam display of your beautiful, manly perfection.

For providing a film that I don’t have to sneak off with my equally Hugh-crazy co-worker to lust over you in a darkened movie theater, I am indebted to you. For making a movie in which I can laze in the hypnotizing dazzle of your Aussie awesomeness in the comfort of my own home, I am grateful.




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