An open letter to The Beautiful Lie's Anna Ivin: Don't do it.

Dear Anna,

I’m worried you’re making a huge mistake.

I mean, I haven’t actually read Anna Karenina (it’s on my list, I swear!) but it’s not really known as one of history’s feel-good reads.

Which is why I have the distinct feeling that things are going to go downhill for you after you leave your husband for Skeet.

Watch Sarah Snook and Rodger Corser discuss infidelity… Post continues after video.

I get it. Skeet has an unusual name and long hair that he sometimes flicks out of his face with a seductive shake of his head. Other times he lets it fall over his eyes in a devil-may-care fashion; this is equally attractive.

He lives, inexplicably, in a giant, rambling old house-cum-music studio. He’s a music producer who’s never picked up a tennis racket in his life.

He makes you do things you never thought you’d do, like have sex in a car on your own driveway, which bore more than a passing resemblance to that Titantic carriage sex scene. He makes you feel alive, dammit.

Now, hear me out on this one. I posit that you are not in love, but deeply in lust.

You and Skeet have barely spoken to each other except those conversations you’ve had where you’re all, “I can’t! I’m married!” and he’s all, “Come on, baby,” and you end up shagging in a park.

You’ve had loads of those “conversations”, but you’ve spoken little about, y’know, your lives.

“We will be together,” Skeet breathes into your ear after a particularly robust sex session, but offers no practical solutions. Like, does he intend to be stepfather to your son? Will he shoulder his share of the bills? What is his stance on recycling?

And I get it, having rad sex can be like coming back to life if you’ve been in a relationship in which your lover no longer makes you feel like your body is a wonderland. It’s all very well when you’re so infatuated with each other you find yourself unable to refrain from public sex, but what about when you move in together and the sex isn’t so illicit?

What if the sex is on tap, but you’d really rather someone who did the vacuuming once in a while?

What if he never takes the garbage out? What if he thinks going to the local takeaway counts as cooking dinner? What if he lets muso gronks sleep on the floor of his romantically shabby mansion, which is beginning to look a little moth-eaten, actually. Is that a rat?!

What about his midnight flatulence?

And did you ever consider that Skeet might just be a little bit of a jerk? I mean, he did have sex with you at his own engagement party.

Given time, any relationship will lose its immediate passion. If you’re lucky, it will evolve into something deeper.

I’m not sure that’s going to happen with Skeet. Case in point: the time you told him you’re pregnant, and he was all
¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

You see, Anna, soon your sex life with Skeet will cool off a little, especially after the birth of an actual child and the ensuing sleepless nights, bouts of mastitis and perineal stitches.

Your distaste for passionate lovemaking will further increase with each dirty nappy Skeet refuses to change.

Meanwhile, good ol’ Xander is at your palatial home with your cute little red-haired son, some good cheese and a bottle of red, curled up on your tasteful couch.

Having cocaine-driven sex at a party then getting arrested may seem like a wild adventure now, but I really feel, Anna, that Skeet will be the death of you.

Sincerely, your friend,

Alex.

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