Everytime he goes upstairs to the office, after a few minutes' time, just long enough to allow the computer to boot up, I hear the faint strain of Susan trilling her little song on Simon Cowell's British cash grab show, Britain's Got Talent.
Out of utter curiosity, and because my background is investigative journalism at its finest, I asked him why in hell's name he does this.
His response: "She's hot."
Last night, he listened to her six times. SIX. TIMES.
He tells me she's inspirational.
I tell him, "I'll show you inspirational. Get over here, big boy."
But no, guys, he won't budge from the computer. He sits there, staring at her, like a dog at a bone. She's irresistible. I even found a pool of drool on the keyboard later that evening.
Then, Mr. Handsome was sitting beside me on the couch, and we were both watching something inane, as we always do after dinner, because that's our scheduled "cuddle time", although I know it's really more like "digest the crap that was our dinner time". Regardless, we were sitting there, and I asked once again what he got out of watching that video over and over and over again. And, after a longer-than-needed pause, he said, "I think I need to go upstairs."
Then, just the other night, he was in a deep sleep, and he rolled over and started stroking my face lovingly, as he never does, because I will unleash the Wrath of the Beauty Sleep Gods on him, and then he said, "Oh, Susan."
Yes, he really did.
Now, don't get me wrong. I think it's all great stuff, this Susan Boyle. Amazing, really. Kind of like a fairytale. The toad turns into a prince, except the prince is a woman with very bushy eyebrows.
But it still doesn't give Mr. Handsome any right or reason to ogle her, to watch her time and time again in the privacy of his office. It's sickening is what it is.
So, I've decided that, to win him back, I am going to have a Susan Boyle makeover, so that Mr. Handsome looks at no one but me. Because I will not be beaten down by anyone, nay, not even Queen Boyle.
I actually think I may be on to something, guys. You know how it works. Someone famous starts dressing differently, doing their hair a totally rad way, and there you have it -- the new fashion of the season. Remember Avril Lavigne and her t-shirt and tie ensemble? Or Madonna and her underwear over top her clothing idiocy?
Everyone wants to copy it, just so they can have a piece of the star, and feel like they're that much closer to him or her. So, I think I'm going to grab the proverbial bull by the horns, yessir, and I'm going to get me a makeover a la Boyle. I'll call it the Boylemaker, and it will be everything awesome and amazing, because suddenly, everyone will want to be like Susan, and Mr. Handsome will once again only have eyes for me.
Look at this! Everyone's doing it. Gwynneth, Paris, Jessica. They can't all be wrong, can they?
Not only that, but eventually, after this all subsides and every second woman on the street has the "Susan", she will fade into the woodwork like an old stain, and I will once again be queen of my household. I will be the New Susan.
Just the way it's supposed to be.
There is no one who will outdo me in my own domain. No one. Not even Susan Boyle.