For many years now, the one and only (OK, maybe one of many) that has captured my heart is the actor and soon to be known as the Former Mr. Spinster...Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
But for the last few days I find myself pining for and obsessively Googling (and oogling) another. I am bewitched. En-sore-sulled. Completely captivated. Last night, as I gazed fondly at my new crush, I actually felt a little case of the vapours come upon me.
(Either that, or I have finally stepped from the vestibule into the living room of menopausal hell.)
He was a professional golfer and is now a commentator. I won't go into his full resume, because I want our newfound relationship to develop slowly, and I want to get to know him over a time span longer than the minute and a half it takes to read the average Wikipedia page. But so far methinks he is charming and lovely and quite a snappy dresser.
(That last part, of course, was supplied by Stewey.)
But you wanna know what made me go positively weak in the knees?
I know, I know. You're thinking it's the voice and the accent, right? (Mr. Feherty was born in Northern Ireland.) (Make of that what you will, but the guy could read the back of a cereal box aloud and I would puddle.)
Nope. What got me about this guy is that...
He can write.
And by write, I mean write your socks off. Turn a phrase, develop a tone, tell a story, and deliver a quip.
He did a little piece on NBC's coverage about why the Olympics are important last night, and I thought it perfectly captured all of the crap that's been rattling around my tiny little brain this week and turned it into something beautiful. If you get the chance to see it, brace yourself and clutch your hankie, because it's good.
And I won't lie...the accent doesn't hurt anything either.
So, forgive me Jeffrey Dean. There's a new boy bestilling my heart. Have a seat and get yourself a beverage with your compatriots...I'll be back soon.
But for now, at least, my heart belongs to another.
(Cue the sappy music, please.)