Dear Brad – Hi. It’s been years.
Twenty-seven long years since you broke out of stripper-waiter purgatory and into Thelma And Louise with your sly smile and your cowboy hat and the money-stealing, orgasm-dealing role that changed your life.
If there’s anyone under the age of 35 reading this right now, stop it. Immediately go and watch that movie beginning to end.
Brad, you’re not even the best thing in it. Sorry, you’re pretty amazing and everything, but there’s also Susan Sarandon. So, you know.
A lot of water has passed under your man-bridge in those 27 years.
Listen to Holly, Mia and Jessie on Mamamia Out Loud talking about the new ‘trophy wife’:
Many, many movies, for a start. And photo shoots and interviews. And charitable foundations. Production companies and Oscars noms and headlines about secret babies and more-secret reunions and regrettable political affiliations and literally rivers of zombie blood.
And here we all are. With a few more wrinkles, some runs on the board, a handful of crushing disappointments, a crowd of children at our feet. Some broken hearts behind us, some scars on our own.
Age. It’s like a country song.
Do you still have your cowboy hat, by the way?
I hear you’re in the market for a new wife. Internet gossip sites and inspirational memes tell me that a 54-year-old man with more money than God and the jawline of Michelangelo’s David could never be happy alone. You know, living in your own architecturally-designed mansion and being able to do whatever you want and sleep wherever you want and eat whatever you want and travel to wherever you want and work whenever you want and have sex with whomever you want… That’s got to be a cold, empty life, right?
So. I hear you’re auditioning for a new wife.
And I also hear that the application process for high-profile movie-star wives has changed. The JD has taken a substantial edit.
I blame George. I mean, I know you’re friends and everything, but he really screwed this thing up.