You are dreamy. Sometime last summer, I decided you were my guy, that you would be my hall pass. My little crush/obsession has grown in recent months and I have found a legion of friends who feel just as I do. They, too, think you are dreamy. They send me pictures, videos, text messages and emails of you and about you. I get messages when you are on Palladia, Ellen or Elvis Duran. One of my student’s moms sent me your almost naked picture with the little hand sticking up in the perfect spot and I have received it at least a half dozen times since. My own children have changed my screensaver to your picture.
Rest assured, this crush/obsession has become nothing more than a joke in my little middle class zip code. This 40 year old mother of four has been happily married to her soulmate for almost 18 years. He rolls his eyes at me and has said if you come to our door, I can go hang out with you for a little while.
But, I’m not writing you a Marcia Brady/Davy Jones letter asking you to play at my high school. Although, if you are in the 2-3-1-1-3, we would love to have you stop by our cul-de-sac happy hour sometime. I’m writing to you because you have become my muse. I’m not only a mom and preschool teacher, I am also a writer and I just wrote my first novel. My romantic hero looks a lot like you and could actually be mistaken for your older – barely over 40 – brother. It’s a syrupy, sweet love story about a widow with three kids.
While you were my muse, your song Payphone was on my writing playlist and became a sort of anthem for my book. I would love to include some of the lyrics from the song in my not-so-Fifty-Shades-of-Grey love story. I am going to self publish my book and won’t have an attorney from a publishing house that can go through all the hoops to work out the legal side of using your lyrics. It’s just me, asking you, if I could please quote a few lines of Payphone in my itty-bitty story.