Happy birthday, Colin Firth... you love rat.

LOVE RAT BIRTHDAY BOY!

Mr. Sexy turns 48... ye olde fart!

Happy 48th birthday, Colin Firth. My greetings are tinged with acrid bitterness, for you have COMPLETELY ignored my desperate entreaty. I asked, nay, BEGGED you to acknowledge my dear American friend Phyllis, your most loyal stalker, I mean, fan. And what did you do? You blew her off! You blew ME off! You blew NORTH AMERICA off! HMPF!

I, personally, am ticked and will never speak to you again. Well, obviously that's a lame threat, since we've never spoken before, but you know, THEORETICALLY I will never speak to you again. I will no longer take your calls. I am so done.

Hey, I can take your snub, your caustic lack of awareness of our existence, but what about poor, poor Phyllis? She's had to go and get a dog with brown eyes that remind her of yours. A DOG, Colin. The ache in her heart will never cease! A DOG, to heal the bleeding, throbbing hole in her heart left by your careless regard for her beautiful soul that loves you so.

And yet, Mr. Colin Firth Love Rat, she is forgiving. Phyllis still holds a candle for you. The flame burns night and day, night and day, occasionally setting off the smoke detector. Okay, well, it's not a REAL flame because Phyllis has asthma and can't be around smoke. It's one of those fake battery-operated flames, but it LOOKS real and that's all that matters. Amazing, isn't it, what they come up with these days? Remember when we were kids, Colin, and computers hadn't been invented? No DVDs, no VCRs, heck, I remember the advent of colour television!

Well, in the spirit of generosity, to celebrate your 48th birthday (no wonder you're playing father roles these days!), my dear friend Phyllis has a special, special greeting JUST FOR YOU:

"Happy birthday, you big British hunk o' Mr. Darcy burning love. CALL ME!"

(Oh come on, SOMEBODY must have a comment on this post!)