It’s January 3rd, and we’re all back to work. I am in that frenzied place where I have a book releasing (We Interrupt This Sentence for a Shameless Plug–One Good Earl Deserves a Lover, out January 29th!) and a book due (No Good Duke Goes Unpunished, out when it’s finished!), and I can’t really think intelligent thoughts. And so, I read People Magazine. And US Weekly. And anything else I can get my hands on — assuming there are more pictures than words.
The benefit of these less-than-cosmopolitan–ooh, Cosmopolitan!–reading materials is that I am very up on the handsomest men of the time. And I’m developing a sound appreciation for those who I might not have cared much about earlier. I’m looking at you, Channing Tatum.
“My word! That man isn’t wearing any clothing!”
“I know! But there are worse things, aren’t there, Lady B?”
Lady B extracts her lorgnettes from her reticule and takes a good look. “My word.”
I have come to realize that when Lady B says “my word,” what she really means is, “I haven’t any words.”
She points to another picture. “And who is that?“
“Ahh…he’s a particular favorite of mine.”
She cuts me a look, “Am I misunderstood in thinking you are married, Miss MacLean?”
“Not at all, but I am able to peruse the menu, am I not?”
“As long as you dine at home.”
We share a grin. “Precisely,” I say. “That, is Bradley Cooper.”
“He is a handsome devil.”
“Great smile. And he speaks fluent French.”
“Mmm. Tres bon. Perhaps we should have Misters Cooper and Tatum to a ball? It seems the thing, considering they lack titles. And clothing.”
“I think that would be a very generous invitation, my lady.”
“Turn the page.” Far be it from me to disobey the Baroness. “Dear me…there appears to be an epidemic of nudity among these men.”
“Tragic, don’t you think?”
“Terribly. Now those are lovely legs.”
“This is Daniel Craig. He plays a very famous spy.”
“On the stage?”
I hesitate. “Sort of.”
“You’d think he’d have enough money for clothes.” She lingers over the image for longer than is necessary, then snaps her head up. “Miss MacLean! This magazine is positively pornographic!”
Hmmm. Regency propriety returns. “Not really, I mean…you can’t see anything you couldn’t see on one of your garden statues.”
“My garden statues are not flesh and blood.”
She’s got me there. “Trust me, my lady…at some point…these pictures will be tame in comparison to the others in print.” (I’m looking at you Prince Harry.)
“Well they are most certainly not now. I believe I shall have to confiscate this magazine.” She pauses. “For your own good.”
I stifle a grin and relinquish my People. “If you must…”
I don’t have the heart to tell her I get another issue tomorrow.
Happy New Year, Ballroomies! Tell me…who’s your hottie of choice these days? Post a pic for extra fun!