Who are you? No, seriously. I mean that in the nicest possible way-- WHO. ARE. YOU? You see, I consider myself a pretty "in the know" kind of a gal. And while I work in the "mommy world" and often go days without making physical contact with a razor, it is rare, and I mean rare, that I don't know who people are... But C-Tate (can I call you that?), despite your incredibly good looks and a story surfacing about how you apparently burnt your penis off or something like that: I honestly have no idea who you are.... and it scares me.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but IT has happened. The other day, somewhere between fishing for Cheerios in my new shag rug and watching the oh-so-boring Thomas complain about his mean friends for the 19th time (that morning), I remembered the stack of US Weekly's that had been piling up since getting a new subscription. Excited, and ready to enjoy another pic of precious Violet going off to preschool, there YOU were. I looked at the page. Next to your photo were more photos. Not of you but of other C-Tate-like celebs that I have never seen. What? How could this be? I know everyone. Granted, I've never gotten on the Team Edward vs Team Jacob bandwagon, but still... that doesn't mean I've lost a grip on all things pop culture.... does it?
I closed the magazine and tried not to think about it. Tried not to over-analyze. Tried not to feel like that mom. But alas, Dear John, you ARE everywhere. On posters, on websites, on my entertainment shows... Apparently you are known and these days, I know nothing. Seriously, where have I been?
In the meantime, best of luck with you and your career. I suppose I'll be seeing you around. Oh, but if I may make one tiny suggestion (as mom to "kid"), next time you're tempted to pour scalding water down your pants-- honey, blow on it first.