Bradley Cooper, Foreign Languages and the Dirty Monkey

Okay, here’s the thing. I’ve watched that video clip of Bradley Cooper speaking French four times. I’m supposed to be writing yet each time I pause mid-sentence, searching for an elusive word, there he is. Bradley…my extra-marital freebie. I have to admit, until recently I only truly appreciated Bradley circa The Hangover. He was the ravishingly handsome bad boy, all unkempt but still beautiful. I’ve always like my boys that way – gorgeous, confident and well-dressed. Just like my husband was that day I met him eleven years ago. Last weekend, David and I watched Limitless and I marveled at how Bradley wore those English suits with such ease. Who doesn’t appreciate a handsome man in a perfectly tailored English suit? 

Esquire magazine June/July 2011

A few days later the movie was forgotten. Bradley the movie star slid into the background because, let’s face it he’s just a dude who’s in some movies that hired great stylists. Then the video clip appeared. Oh God, the video clip. I could dive in and take a swim in those liquid blue eyes. Is it weird that I’ve watched it four times in the past 48 hours? Is it? Go on…be honest.

Somewhere in my questioning, I was reminded of a monkey I once knew. Okay, I didn’t actually know the monkey. We never had a conversation or anything, but I still feel like we knew each other on a relatively intimate level. He lived in the pet store at the Aviation Mall where I recall standing with my mother, watching him perform behind the glass. I was 14 and still relatively innocent about all things involving sex. I was really only there to see the funny little monkey. He was eating a banana and jumping around his glass house. Boy, did we laugh. Then he scaled up to the highest level of his platform and proceeded to rub one out. Vigorously. 

Now, since people in Bloggy Land tend to take things so literally, I feel compelled to explain that I am not doing The Monkey while I watch Bradley speak French. It’s just that somehow my oddly-wired brain took me on a trip from French speaking Bradley Cooper to the masturbating monkey. I suddenly wanted to tell my husband about that masturbating monkey but I’m sure that he was already in bed, resting his gorgeous blue eyes. While I was pondering my mini-Bradley obsession and the masturbating monkey, David was sleeping just feet from his closet filled with perfectly tailored suits and impeccably shined Alden’s.

If he were awake, he’d patiently listen to my random recollection of that self-pleasuring monkey and probably wonder how, exactly, that memory surfaced while I was upstairs writing…and watching Bradley Cooper speak fluent French. Maybe today, I can coerce Dave into wearing a suit on the weekend. Perhaps he’ll forego a shave and speak a little Italian to me after we’ve tucked the kids in tonight. Did I tell you that his blue eyes still make me swoon? He smells good, he’s gorgeous, he makes me laugh and, after nearly ten years of marriage he has never done The Monkey in front of me. And that’s a good thing.

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