I know I’ve been giving you a lot of grief lately — over your gunplay, keeping your pregnancy a secret, your general piss-poor job of keeping in touch — but this time it’s my turn to apologize. It’s just that, well, when you called on Tuesday to say you were getting married in Manhattan the next day (on Valentine’s Day), I thought you were joking. For starters, the weather was, as they say on Law & Order: SVU, especially heinous. It wasn’t merely snowing — there were tiny chips of ice flying vertically through the air — into my face. Who wants to take the most important photographs of her life under such complexion-testing conditions? Secondly, let’s not try to pretend you didn’t know they were naming the top 24 on American Idol that night. That’s like my most important religious holiday! Would you ask the Pope to a karaoke bar on Baby Jesus’ birthday? Or ask Bruce Vilanch to babysit on Oscar night? I didn’t think so. In other words, I’m not really sorry. Actually, you owe me another apology. I’ll add it to the list. But I loved the code-name you came up with to hide Ben’s identity from the press. Shane Deary, contractor. That’s a way-hot profession. Till we speak again, happy honeymoon!
addCredit(“Keri Russell: Rebecca Sapp/WireImage.com”)