An open letter to Sir Paul McCartney

Do you get Grey's Anatomy on your side of the pond, Sir? If you do, perhaps you remember that episode a few seasons back when Meredith beseeched Derek to, "Pick me, choose me, love me!" That is what I say to you this morning.

Odd, I know, considering that we've never met. Perhaps frightening, considering that John was murdered by a crazed fan. But I have given this considerable thought (all the way from the Randolph/Wabash el station to the security desk in my office building!) and I believe it's a good move for both of us.

Here's the thing: I'm tired this morning. And all I did was take a friend out to dinner last night to celebrate her birthday. Yes, we ate heavy food and killed a bottle of wine but I was still home before 10:00 PM. Yet this morning I am tired. Tomorrow I'm going out with another friend to see the Batman movie. Since we're going to a matinee and having dinner afterward, I'll probably be home before the end of the SNL monologue. To tell you the truth, Dr. Paul, I wish we weren't going tomorrow. It feels like a lot of booze and a lot of socializing and not enough alone time.

Now I read Heather Mills' complaints about you, and they lead me to believe you and I would be very compatible. She basically called you a boring old pothead who doesn't want to go anywhere or do anything. Fine by me! I don't smoke pot, but if you want to, be my guest. As evidenced by the above paragraph, I no longer crave the nightlife, nor do I love to boogie. And I can think of no one I'd rather sit on the sofa with as we do nothing together, hour after hour. Just please promise me I can have the remote and we'll be fine. (Have you seen the stars of Psyche send up "Ebony and Ivory?" It's wickedly fabulous! I'll Tivo it for you.)

She says you are stingy. Fine. Whatever. I live in a 2BR condo with leaky pipes and don't even own a car, so I'm sure the lifestyle she considered parsimonious wouldn't bother me at all.

She says you are no longer interested in your appearance. Okeedokee. When I look at you, all I see is February 1964 and the cover of Meet the Beatles, so I don't care about your current appearance, either.

She says you two often disagree on how to raise your daughter, Beatrice. My baby factory is closed, so we won't have that problem. Just don't try to discipline my cats in any way and we'll be fine.

Let's face it, Macca: In the past, we both have chosen poorly when it comes to romance. You certainly could and have done worse and so have I, so why shouldn't we give it a go?