More Alex Pettyfer. Yes, I know.

Allow me to address my obsession with Alex Pettyfer. As much I hate to admit it, when it comes to sexual fantasy figures I am a twelve year old girl. This was not a problem when I, myself, was twelve and constantly falling head over heals for inaccessible older men. Donny Osmond! David Cassidy! Well, it was a problem, but for completely different reasons. The problem now is that as I get older (and I'm not sure how many more 29th birthdays I can celebrate) the guys I'm attracted to stay the same age, which just happens to hover somewhere around the age of consent. Alex Pettyfer, though his deportment is that of an adult, is a mere eighteen years old. Not that it should matter, really. It's not like I'm some crazed stalker. I'm not going to fly to London and haunt the streets of Notting Hill in hopes of encountering him. I'm never going to meet him, nor would I particularly want to. And I know that eventually some hot young thing from some movie or magazine will catch my attention and will supercede him as the first person I google when I'm surfing the web. In the meantime, what harm does it do for me to admire Alex from afar, to thrill to his youthfulness, to be captivated by his beauty? He is beautiful, is he not? So please, don't judge me until you've asked yourself, "What unreasonable demands have I made on the world?"


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