I love my husband Tom Brady. He is the perfect husband and a wonderful father to our beautiful children. He is also, objectively, a great-looking man.
But sometimes his hair choices? Hooboy. I dunno, man.
Take his most recent haircut, for example. I mean, what other conclusions can I possibly draw? He’s leaving me for Topanga.
I swear, I was so upset about it last night that I ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. Okay that’s not true; I looked at the carton for a while.
But come on! Topanga? Over ME? And by the way, I don’t mean talented actress Danielle Fishel. She’s great. I am willing to compete with another corporeal woman for my husband’s affections.
But how am I supposed to keep pace with an idealized television character on whom literally every boy who breathed oxygen in the 90s had a giant crush?
He’s not rocking the “middle part” to look cool. He’s not doing it to improve his football game. He’s not doing it to impress Bill Belichick.
Actually, he might be doing it to impress Bill Belichick. Okay, I feel better now. Wow, I really learned a lot about myself during this short but powerful introspective journey.
[90s laugh track fades into voices saying “awww” as credits roll.]