By Bobbie Glasheen

Several years ago, I watched Johnny Depp interviewed by James Lipton on “Inside the Actor’s Studio.”

My love was put to the test. I loved Johnny Depp and would have gone away with him in a twinkle. But I realized as I watched that I would have to deal with his hair and, therefore, we would never make it as a couple.

His hair was burnished and looked like it smelled sweet as honey in the hive. But a man who can’t keep his hands off his curls doth not a good partner make. It fell across his eyes 63 times in the course of the interview.

He pulled endlessly at it, rearranging and shaking it off his beautiful countenance in what were studied gestures. This would be bad for my digestion, looking at this absurd and repetitive stuff. Why not a hairnet? Or a snood? Good grief.

I need the calm, steady gestures of a Gary Glasheen, whose only repetitive effort is hiking his pants up 438 times a day. That’s not attractive either, but Gary is closer to my age, Johnny Depp being only in his 40s.

Boy, howdy. They’re both beautiful.

Oh, I’m so torn. There they are standing together at my front door, each asking that I go away with him.

Watching the interview I saw something very affected about Johnny’s tossing and adjusting. There is nothing affected about an old guy hiking up his drawers.

I do not like affectation. Perhaps I will look up Chuckie Snodgrass, my enamorado in fifth grade — see if he is still kicking up dust.

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