Irony on a Mental Health Day?! Say it ain't so!

I developed an insta-crush on Phillippe Cousteau when he appeared with Matt Lauer this morning. I was studying statistics and cursing the stress in my life when my own personal David appeared.

I don't remember the segment. I was too lost in his sea-like eyes. He has the ultimate run-away job and he's saving he planet. As I paged through book pages that I barely understand and worry that I'm running out of time to accomplish everything I need to do today, one corner of my mind wandered the ocean with Diver McDreamy.

We talked about the shocking changes in reef life. We tutted over the changing interactions among whale families. We shook our fists at ditzy anti-conservationists who thwart our labors. Sure, I'm fat, tired, whingy, easily nauseated at sea, and freak out when natural things touch me, but none of this mattered to Phantas Phillippe and I. Our connection was intellectual, not sexual.

And that's a good thing...because just as I became convinced that Phillippe Cousteau would rescue me from my humdrum stressful existence, the Alannis rule of irony kicked in: It's like meeting the man of your dreams and then his beautiful wife.

Oh drat. I suppose she couldn't be fat or frumpy. A man with a name like Phillippe Cousteau would find something just this fabulous.

So, sighing, I go back to studying. I may not be able to roam the 7 seas with a handsome Frenchman as I inform the world about climate change, but at least I had a few hours break. I guess he saved me from my stress after all.