Alice, since your grasp on reality appears somewhat iffy, here are a couple of realities for you:
• You are divorced. You are no longer married to Ioan Gruffudd, and from now to eternity have no right to any part of his life, his time and his seven inches. Allow me to quote a line from Les Misérables (the musical, not the book – yes, cheesy, I know, but fitting all the same): “Without me, his world will go on turning. A world that's full of happiness that I have never known.”
• No casting director in their right mind will hire you in the foreseeable future, at least not for a quality production. I don’t know much about the entertainment world, but like in every other industry, people talk. Everyone who’s anyone in casting has heard about your shrieking-banshee antics and will give you a berth the width of the Pacific Ocean – more so as there are hundreds of actresses with greater skills and fewer tantrums who will do an exponentially better job.
• At some point, even your extremely-thin-stretched $26 will run out. You have no employment, no prospects, and you won’t be able to pull the GoFundMe stunt again. Not that it was such a gold mine the first time around, was it?
• This “just-you-wait” tell-all book you keep touting will tank. Badly. Three years from now, when your DVRO expires – and it’s more than likely to be extended, given the state of affairs – no one will give a flying f*ck about you and your
fabricated sensational reveals any more. Not that anyone does now, but at least a handful of us Tattlers might be inclined to read it out of sheer curiosity. In three or more years, the only ones left to buy your magnum opus will be Moany Tony and The Wolf of Chastity from New Zealand.
• Your children will learn to resent you bitterly. Not today, not tomorrow, but in a few years’ time. Maybe even sooner. With every word you say against their father, with every spiteful post, with every day you keep them from enjoying their childhood, with every time you use them as an emotional crutch or as catalysts for your frustrations and failures, they will love and respect you a little less until nothing is left.
• You will find dating to be much different and way harder than it used to be. You will no longer get by on the pretty face you once had, and what might have been considered quirky charm at one time has turned into what you are now. Bagging a partner
of means will be no small feat. Tell us, Alice, what do you bring to the table that might be enticing enough for a man to overlook ... well ...
you?
Unless you give the meanest BJ this side of Deep Throat, of course.
Oh, and one more thing – those sycophants on Twitter/IG (the few ones that don’t happen to be you/Tone/Ella) are not your friends. They won’t drop by at 3 am to give you a hug when you’re down, they won’t help you pick out furniture, they won’t sit by your hospital bed when you wake up after surgery. They are just weirdos who get off on communicating with a has-been whose name happens to be listed on IMDB.