Dear Bob Van Dillon,

I think I love you.

You are my ideal weatherman. There is something really sexy about a guy who is smart, handsome, and always ready for a natural disaster. But its more than just physical attraction, Bob. You give me something I need, and you give it to me the way I like it. And I don’t care what our spouses think. You are just doing your job. And I am part of your demographic. Its completely innocent.

You and Robin (Meade) make getting up for work bearable. And you two already look so good it’s enough to send my inner diva into a morning frenzy of high maintenance and intense beautification. No matter how early I rise, and first lay eyes on you, you are always perfect… tall and powerful, confident and knowledgable, all with a slight, purposeful spike in your hair. No toothbrush or funny noises. No robe, bedhead, or beard stubble.

it doesn’t hurt that you have great clothes… never a suit jacket AND a tie, or a short-sleeve dress shirt, which should be banned from menswear entirely. You have style, and even if someone else picked out the digs, baby, you wear them well.

Being a southern girl, your slight New Jersey accent sounds cute to me, and I giggle it when you really let it fly. You are adorable when you get excited about something. But yYou never talk to me like I am stupid, and I appreciate that. You also don’t explain things in terms I can’t comprehend.

You are straight with me, even if the truth is not what I want to hear. And unlike some men, when you are finished giving me all you’ve got, you go away. At least long enough for me to recover. I appreciate that too.

Not that I couldn’t spend all morning with you, Bob, sipping my coffee and watching you point at a map, but a girl has stuff to do.

I have to take comfort in the fact that tomorrow morning, I’ll see you again. I wouldn’t want to wake up to anyone else.

~ by ocdiva on October 7, 2008.