I Heart Colin Firth

Here I am, furiously researching Colin Firth on the web, in pursuit of something that could cure my infatuation with him. I just saw Pride and Prejudice on public television and I am now hopelessly in love. The whole thing is decidedly pathetic, completely hormonal, curiously out of control, and somehow related to my pending thirty-sixth birthday. Making things worse is my husband’s absence—not that he would have been able to prevent this fascination. He is away for three weeks, seeking bureaucratic fortunes in some Ethiopian village. And I am alone with two kids, five years apart, both teething. As much as I love my children, taking care of them on my own has made me feel anonymous, empty, and melancholic.

This happened once before, I think about six years ago. Then, nearly thirty, childless, and into the seventh year of my marriage, I found myself outright in love with Kevin Spacey upon watching American Beauty. Contractually obliged to live with me, my husband managed to dismiss the whole thing as a joke. Yet, I went somewhat public with my newly found love, hanging a web-printed photo of Kevin Spacey in my office.

With Colin Firth, I have been able to control that particular urge. The only photograph of a famous person in my office now belongs to my Facebook friend Frederich A. Hayek, hung on my door, under a crayon painting of Christopher Columbus. (Now I come to think of it, Hayek did write Prices and Production). The moron who inhabits the office next door asked who the old man was, and when I said “Pinochet,” he knowingly shook his head and promptly went back to hibernation. Although I am not able to question him on this gesture until late spring, I am familiar with that dim-witted headshake. This man—the boring colleague, not Firth, Hayek or Spacey—obtained two masters degrees, one in musical composition, from the University of Isle of He-Man, while riding the commuter train. I am grossly overeducated, too, but my life shines in comparison.

Before falling in love with Kevin Spacey, I never had a crush on what in all practicality amounts to an imaginary person. In fact, I have generally directed my crushes carefully, to people with whom I could have bilateral relations, and at some point, I married one. I blamed the Spacey episode on fatigue-induced cracks in my marriage that needed immediate sealing through propagation. With two urchins to show for it, my marriage now is just so awesome. Therefore, I must admit that my love for Colin Firth is slightly disturbing even to me, and I could use a few words of comfort, especially from Mr. Firth himself.

Knowledge is power, they say, and in the end, it was knowledge that helped me ditch Kevin. I found out that he harbors crazy aspirations with respect to other people’s money; yet he could not have been who he is now in the world he defends. Oh, I forget, I also saw the movie Seven, and that was it; I was cured.

Hmm…that gives me an idea. I should research Colin Firth’s political beliefs. There, he seems to be supporting Oxfam…there is hope after all.

Now, can anyone recommend a bad Colin Firth movie?