To Colin Firth

I went to the press preview of your store, Eco, in Chiswick when it opened. You were supposed to be there, but your Catherine Zeta-Jones-esque wife managed on her own along with every in-law you have. So I shook her hand fervently while pretending it was really yours. When leaving the event and feeling sufficiently important, my co-worker and I grabbed our bags that we had placed downstairs. I smelled something burning and noticed my purse was singed, or more like there was a GIANT ASS HOLE IN MY PURSE. The floor lights in your store burnt right through my Urban Outfitters bag, but I was too embarrassed to tell your wife. So instead I did the mature thing and had my editor call and gripe to your PR people and demand the value of the purse. It was $30 but we requested £30. Someone grudgingly handed it over, and I was happy as a clam thinking that I surely was the topic of a Firth family dinner conversation. If you see this, I'll reimburse you the £30 if you get drankz with me.