I mentioned yesterday that I think John Malkovich is hot. Some people find this strange, as he is not especially good looking, but despite that I think he is just unbelievably sexy. In fact, you know those "5 celebrities I can sleep with if I ever get the chance and my husband can't complain" lists? I don't have one of those. But if I did, John Malkovich would totally be on it. Not number one, you know, but a good solid four. Maybe even a three if he were willing to dress up in the Dangerous Liaisons gear.
So, since yesterday I have been developing this very elaborate John Malkovich fantasy. Here's how it goes:
Poor me, my car has broken down and I am stopped at the side of the road. It is a lovely country road surrounded by gently rolling hills and blooming lavender - in France (because that's where he lives). I am sitting on the trunk of the car reading a book. (I'm not sure what book I am reading, something intellectual, maybe poetry.) Suddenly, a kind passing motorist pulls over and gets out of his car to see if I need help. As he walks up, I realize that this Good Samaritan is none other than John Malkovich. I don't let on that I know who he is though, because I am just that cool and sophisticated. We proceed to have a conversation, in French of course, and my accent is so flawless that John Malkovich has no idea that I am American. (The grand total of my French vocabulary is "I don't speak French, do you speak English?" and "May I please have 20 bottles of wine?" but this is my fantasy so I speak perfect French so there.) After a few minutes of chatting, he offers to take me to his chateau so I can use the phone to call for a tow truck. I accept, of course, and he drives me up to his house. Once there, he introduces me to his lovely wife and charming children, they invite me to stay for lunch and I spent the rest of the afternoon there. I eventually confess that I am American, to the great shock of the entire Malkovich clan and also confess that I have known all along who he was but am just far too worldly to make a fuss over such things. They are all greatly impressed by my amazing talents and all-around too cool for schoolness. And then I call the tow truck and am on my way.
Now first, how sad is it that my John Malkovich fantasy involves lunch with his wife and children rather than wild earth moving sex on the trunk of my stalled car? But I looked up a recent picture of him yesterday and well, he looks a little like my dad. Only my dad has more hair. And while I am sure he is still a knicker-twister in person, the "looks like me dad" thing kinda cooled my ardor.
And second, how long do you think it will take me to learn enough French to fool John Malkovich when I bump into him on that country road?