Why Can’t Celebrities Just Admit Why They’re Getting Divorced?
Because they’re sick to death of each other.
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I’ve always thought it’s a little unfair that Gwyneth Paltrow is going to be mocked for the rest of eternity for calling her divorce from Chris Martin a “conscious uncoupling.”
Gwyneth didn’t even invent “conscious uncoupling”, which is news to me. But it’s a phrase that’s very on-brand for her, and it could be worse. I’m not sure how, but give it time. Somebody will come up with something.
Hugh Jackman and his wife, Mrs. Hugh Jackman, have also decided to call it quits. Their love allegedly “turned into friendship” during lockdown, which is odd because most people’s love turned into seething hatred while they were penned in with the families they could usually escape from at regular intervals, thus perpetuating civilization as we knew it.
And isn’t “friendship” already a subset of “love”? That’s an honest question because I have no idea. When I try to diagram “friendship” and “love” in my head, I just see a blank page.
I don’t suppose Jackman’s divorce has anything to do with the fact that he’s 54 and Deborra-Lee Furness is 67.
He’s at the perfect age to bail from his marriage and start a new life with a 25-year-old Victoria’s Secret model.
Mark my words, he’ll be doing photo-ops with an infant in his arms within the next two years.
People Magazine had this to say:
“It was not a snap decision — they took a lot of time and consideration of everything, and they made this decision together,” the source adds. “They are going on separate journeys, but they will always be a family. They’ll always be co-parents and best friends.”
What a load of crap. Just admit that after 27 years of marriage, you can’t stand each other.
Or better yet, Hugh could admit that Deborra’s getting a little long in the tooth, while he’s a multi-hyphenate celebrity beloved by millions and if Ryan Reynolds can get a hottie like Blake Lively, who is still stunning after four kids, so can he.
Alternatively, Deborra could tell the world she can’t live with a man who has to compulsively shuffle-ball-change when he’s taking out the garbage.
“It’s not funny anymore, Hugh!” she was heard screaming out the front door. “You’re embarrassing me in front of the neighbors!”
Or maybe it was the way he kept calling her “Storm” when they were making love. That would get on my nerves too.
