*sob* Not one of you has mentioned my award!

You'd think winning People's Sexiest Man Alive award would do something for my prospects, wouldn't you? But bam's only taking calls from Scott Speedman, and I overheard Miss Snark hollering, "If it ain't Clooney, I'm not here!" Or maybe that was Sheila . . . the women are all blurring together right about now. No. What do I get? A bunch of teeny-boppers screaming at me while I'm trying to shop for groceries. (Overheard in Produce: "Doug, what do you think of these musk melons?") All the attention baffled me until I saw the cover of People. Then I was like, "Girls, girls, I'm a happily married man, although if you truly value my opinion of fruit, I am willing to check for ripeness." Fame has its downside, as I am rapidly discovering. Rufus in Hardware pounded my face a few times, saying, "I'm gonna do something about the alive part." Seems he came in second place and was none too happy about it. William from Home and Garden came to my rescue, but as he helped me to my feet he used a most unusual handhold. Now that I am safely home, I find myself waxing philosophical about my award. How can any one man be THE sexiest man alive? Don't we each embody the masculine ideal in our own peculiar ways? And is it really fair for People to subject me to such intense public attention, just so they can sell a few more magazines? I'm also wondering whether this will alter my personal life. Karen seems to be treating me no different than usual; maybe she doesn't know yet. I left a copy on her pillow, just in case. D.