I'm in love with Tony Bennett. You can take Brad Pitt and Matt Damon and Matthew McConaughey and keep 'em because no one speaks to my soul the way Mr. Bennett does. There's just something about him. The charm, the charisma, that ever-constant smile and that voice singing all those old-timey songs I love. I just want to curl up in it. It's not really a sexual thing, mind you. It's not really about that. All I really want to do is put on a 1950s party dress with a full skirt and twirl and sway under a spotlight while he sings to me in front of an old-fashioned microphone while wearing a tuxedo. That's perfectly acceptable. Normal, even. And if he loosens his bow tie and takes off his jacket, well, that's okay too. After the performance, I want to sit at a table with him, have a meal and maybe some scotch on the rocks, while he tells me stories about the good ole days. They just don't make 'em like that anymore. Swoon-worthy in every sense of the word. I just couldn't keep my feelings a secret any longer.
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