Dear Elizabeth Hurley
Dear Elizabeth Hurley
(Warning: Mature themes and profanity)
My gran and I were wondering – just how do you do it? Hugh Grant, Arun Nayar and Shane Warne? Gran says it’s like you’ve won the trifecta.
Hugh Grant was so sexy in Four Weddings, even though my gran thinks that he was in serious need of a speech pathologist and even an eye specialist, with all the blinking he did. And Arun …well, let’s just say that I like my men tall, dark and sweet, the same way I like my chai.
As for Warnie – so he took his mother’s diet pills – big deal. My gran, who is eighty-nine and very wise, says that if a man takes diet pills without prompting , it’s a good thing, cos when the times comes, he will take Viagra without any hassles unlike my grandpa—the bastard refused to.
And you holiday with your husband and your ex-boyfriend? Wow! That’s that amazing. I’m not as secure as Arun – I would have been scared to drink too much in case I passed out and left you free to walk down memory lane with Hugh. Know what I’m saying, Liz? Again, we don’t know how you do it, but my gran and I speak for all the women in the world when we say, “You go girlfrien’!”
What we like about you, is that when you are choosing men, you keep it real – no toyboys and no cougaring on your part. (Hear that Demi? JLO?) My gran says that’s smart. (She does say that you must keep an open mind, though, cos stamina rocks. She winked when she said that. Either that or her cataracts is playing up.)
You’re obviously a super woman, cos you do so much at the same time – motherhood, your clothing lines, your acting, multiple weddings and stuff…
Yet, you look so sexy and together all the time. Like you stepped out of the pages of an Estee Lauder catalogue. Wow!
And the way you manage your men? I mean, you even managed to get Warnie on watercress soup too – he looks great now that he’s lost the paunch. Keep at it and one of these days you’re gonna see Woody Allen Jude Law when you look at him.
As for you, unlike Kirsty Alley, Oprah and Tony Soprano, your weight remains constant. No yo-yo dieting for you.
My gran says that I must tell you that she tried the watercress soup, and well, she didn’t dig it. Says it tasted like crap grass from her garden drenched in a combination of rainwater and snail piss.
Got to confess, Liz, I had a similar experience with the watercress soup and that is why my weight is a lot more than my IQ.
The way you shine, Liz, if I were your girlfriends, I would be so jealous of you and your charming life. We’re curious to know how many genuine girlfriends you have, though. Beautiful, successful women like you must have it tough in the friendship stakes? (Gran says that you must exclude girlfriends like Elton John, George Michael, Mick Jagger and Simon Cowell.)
I mean, we’ve watched Real Housewives, seen the botoxed bitches cattiness and ass kicking among beautiful women, so we know how hard it is to find genuine friends among the rich and famous. It’s usually the fugly ones who are genuine. But I doubt you’d have fugly friends. Your life is picture-perfect and I have to admit, sometimes I maybe be cursing you for having all the fucking luck in this sorry world a tad jealous of you. Just a tad.
All that you’ve done, all that you’ve achieved – how can anyone not be impressed with you? Especially because of your humble beginnings. I mean who doesn’t know about the time when you were so broke, you had to use safety pins to keep your dress together, huh?
Where were all those top, world-class designers then, huh? When you really needed them? Valentino and Versace and Michael Kors and Austin Powers …?
You should write a book on how you did it, or how do it. Reveal everything, keep nothing back so that well deserving, down-on-their-luck women, (like Jennifer Anniston) can take a page/pages out of your book and get their shit together.
Or you should co-author a book with me somebody sassy and fresh.
So, Liz, my gran says that you should keep doing what you do, and with regards to Hugh, sometimes it takes a little divine intervention to get things moving in the direction they are meant to move in. (She winked when she said that. Either that or her cataracts are playing up again.)
Stay beautiful and perfect!
Your number one and number two number three fans for life.
Eve Rabi and Gran
PS: Tell Warnie my gran said that he looked great in that blue cashmere sweater. But if he could drape it around his shoulders then knot it up in front, she might consider fucking him asking for his autograph the next time she bumps into him at the pharmacy. (She winked when she said that.)