Dear Vincent D’Onofrio,
I fell for you when I was a crazy pregnant loon, and I learned that plugging myself into the television ensured that I wouldn’t pick a fight with anyone over the ugly light fixtures in the kitchen or my inability to move without waddling.
I endured many criticisms over our love, darling Vincent, mainly from my friends who couldn’t possibly understand what I saw in a slightly round actor almost as old as my father. They showed me pictures of you as Sgt. Pyle (which was a terrible name. Did you know that the Brits call hemorrhoids “piles”? You should have negotiated for a better name when you took that role. I’m just saying.) and as the bug from Men In Black, and I let it roll off my back like so many drops of water into the ocean of our love.
As an avid People reader, I was shocked to learn that not only are you married, but your wife is having a baby. YOU ARE HAVING A BABY WITHOUT ME, and I don’t appreciate that one teeny bit, Vincent. Sure, we’ve never actually ‘met,’ but that shouldn’t have stopped you from pining for some anonymous, but fabulous, Midwestern girl (with bonus kicky hair!), AND NOT KNOCKING SOME OTHER LADY UP!
How COULD YOU?
I mourned our lost love for a couple of weeks, in between arranging my socks and shaving my cats, before I made the acquaintance of a new television boyfriend: Anthony Bourdain.
Okay, okay, so I am not a cook. Maybe I’m even an “anti-cook,” I can hear you laugh, my favorite recipe being “shamelessly order takeout.” In fact, 99% of the things my new boyfriend eats with gusto, I wouldn’t be in the same room with.
You might even say to me, “Now Aunt Becky, you don’t even CARE about food,” and you would be correct, I don’t. But I do care very much that he can work the phrase “Oh look, there’s a pube in my drink,” ONTO MY TELEVISION. I care about that very much.
As you should know, Vincent, “pube” and “moist” are two of my favorite unintentionally hilarious words, and to hear him use one of those appropriately made me swoon with love. For him. Not you.
Because the best that you can give me is acting like more of a lunatic and forgetting to shave your face, WITHOUT using either of those words, the words that are the key to my heart (like hot dogs!)(and bacon!).
I’m sorry, Vincent, but it’s over between us, and I hope that you’ll agree that it’s for the best.
With Former Love (but less than I have for my new boyfriend. A lot less.),
PS. I hope that your baby cries. A lot.
PPS. A quick internet search has led me to realize that many other people shared my love for you, and they make me feel quite gooshy (in a bad way) inside. They’re creepier than me, right?
PPPS. Hope that you’re not getting any sleep with that new baby.