Please Stop Reading Us Magazine

Darling Wife:
I love you more than anything. You are the most important thing to me. I’m eternally grateful that we met through such happenstance. You’re beautiful. You’re brilliant. You speak four languages. You can cook like a head chef. You’re rational. You’ll be an incredible mother. You have qualities I didn’t even know I wanted in a woman.
Please stop reading Us Magazine.
I have every intention of following through with my marriage commitments. Even though the ceremony was in another language, I understood enough. I know I heard “cherish” and “honor” and “fidelity” and “love.” And a few other things. When it comes down to it, all marriage ceremonies seem pretty much the same. At least the traditional ones. So I know what I have to do. And when I said, “I will” in your mother tongue, I meant it. I will be with you forever. I have every intention of doing so.
Fate has been very kind, introducing you to me. I’m luckier than anyone I know. But why Fate would have introduced you to Us Magazine, I’m not sure. I think Fate wants to mess with me. Maybe hurt me a little. Maybe Fate thinks I’m a little too lucky. Kind of like poor Christopher Reeve or M.C. Hammer. They had it all, then Fate sucker-punched them. I understand them now. When I see you reading Us Magazine, it’s like a tiny dagger in my soul. Sometimes a bigger dagger, depending on who’s on the cover.
So, please, stop reading Us Magazine.
You’re above it, I keep telling you. Demi and Ashton are of no import to us. I don’t care what Reese Witherspoon is really like. And where J-Lo had brunch is as interesting to me as who Fred Durst is soiling. You may think me out of the loop for not knowing exactly who Kate Hudson is, but that’s because we belong in a different loop. A better loop. A loop that doesn’t include Kate or Brad, Jennifer or Matt. A loop where being Courtney Love is not a plus. A loop where Angelina Jolie is not taken seriously. Or even better, she’s locked up.
Please, my love, my angel, my darling: Know that when I enter the room and see you ingesting such printed arsenic, my heart sinks. Winona’s side of the story is not your concern. The Ruben vs. Clay debate is for other people. People we don’t know, or care to know. People who consider scratch tickets investing. People who think National Review is a cabaret. People who buy Swiffer. You see? That’s not you.
For the love of all things holy, my sweet and precious wife, please stop reading Us Magazine.
Your husband.