Oh Ashton, why? You and Demi were the poster children for May-December romances. You and you alone instilled hope in the thirty to fifty something divorcees everywhere! Your relationship with Bruce and the children. The doe eyes you made whenever Demi walked into a room. The matching white linen suits you wore to the Kabbalah center… Your abs. You made us aging women feel young, beautiful, capable of snagging a strapping, hottie that we would have once thought was sure to be uninterested in an older women.

I was so looking forward to my moment with a recent college grad. Wearing his fraternity letters to bed, maybe even getting lavaliered, but clearly it’s not in the cards. Sure, I’m married, which already implies that it’s not in the cards, but on days when I’m quite positive this union will end in divorce (Let’s face it ladies, we all have those days), I like to imagine what the future will hold. For me it’s a young professional or a fireman, who’s extremely hot, has washboard abs, and most importantly has a love for my experience and mature beauty that borders on obsession. Scratch that, most importantly, he has washboard abs. But, one cover of Star later, and poof, my doting strapping fireman/lawyer disappeared into a cloud of “I knew it was too good to be true.”

Now, I know it can never be. A man so young, so hot will eventually stray back to a young chippee, even if you look as good as Demi Moore. Thanks a lot Ashton, now I guess I’ll just have to stay married to the aging hottie I have… even if his abs aren’t defined.