Conquering Vertigo

The spy who loves me

I have seen my husband's future...
And he is Sir Roger Moore.

Note:

• the navy blazer with gold buttons,
  
• the faun trousers sporting an impeccable crease,
  
• the clean white shirt serving as a canvas for the bright tie in 1970s width.
  

It's Ricky, 25 years from now, wearing the clothes hanging in our closet at this very moment.

The glasses are a stretch. Currently, Richard is favoring the retro black plastic frames that say "1950s U.S. State Department." But then his dad was a state department diplomat in the 50s, and Richard comes by intrigue very honestly.

And the freckles. I don't see that happening. Otherwise, though, this picture looks like our future. I wonder if we can snag a gig as a UNICEF ambassador (Moore's current tour)? We like children, world travel, talking... Brangelina, move over.

The passage of time has been kind to James Bond, forever in his prime, as well as to the actors who've played him. Roger Moore is 79 or 80, in awfully good shape, trotting the globe with his blond-ish wife while making urbane, witty speeches. Somewhere in Scotland, a picture of Sean Connery gathers dust in an attic, while the man himself keeps getting sexier.

I like this future. I think I'll choose it.
Ricky, renew your passport and iron your shorts.
We're catching the next flight to Mozambique.

posted by Woman In Love @ 9:26 PM