Open Letter to Idris Elba: Why Are You Stalking Me?

Heh. You this Idris Elba. You know know me eh? As for me, if I corner you, it doesn’t bode well for you kraaaa!! And you are half Ghanaian, so you know EXACTLY what I mean!

I was on my peaceful way to Zoo Atlanta on Monday, having a very dignified conversation with a 70 year old grandmother who joined the kids and I in the caravan. I would have you know that I am always careful concerning my speech with my elders. As the downtown horizon emerged on I-85 South, I saw you sitting there in a white T, legs akimbo, peddling bottled ice-water.

“Hot damn!”

“What did you say, dear?” queried my passenger.

“Oh…nothing, nothing! I saw something that startled me,” I replied sheepishly, gulping saliva to wet my suddenly parched throat, confused by my apparent need to pull over in search for Smart Water.

You see what you made me do? You made me curse in front of my elders! You too, why?

Oh, and your shenanigans don’t stop there. Yesterday I went to the library in search of a peaceful morning amongst books and manuscripts. As I took my seat and glanced around at the other patrons, I looked up and saw you again. This time you were on the cover of Essence magazine, staring at me with that your piercing gaze, wearing a charcoal grey suit – legs, again, akimbo. Why were you smiling at me like that? Heh? Soooo suggestively. Like you wanted me to leap onto the shoot with you and keep my body warmed on that chilly autumn day with that your wide chest.

Look here, Idris. I am a married woman, and I. Don’t. Like. That! Why would you want to tempt me with your muscles and brown eyes?? What you are doing is not good oooh.


   I have begged you on several occasions to stop what you are doing and yet you still continue. I was watching Thor with my husband later that very saaame evening, and who do I see again? Huh? You, Idris, YOU: dressed up in some golden costume, wielding a mighty sword. Was the sword some sort of metaphor something else? I pondered it momentarily. Meanwhile, your British brogue was quite the turn on, but again, I was with my husband. And as for me, I am a faithful woman so I spent the next hour crossing and uncrossing my legs until whatever that foreign feeling I was feeling went away. I was barely able to vanquish your advances, but in the end I triumphed. How a man dressed up as a gay gladiator can still be so hot is beyond me.

Look, Idris: I think you’re wonderful, (burning, SMOKING) hot in fact …but this has to end. You can’t keep waiting for me on the freeway, or turning up expectantly at the library, or whispering in my ear whilst I’m in bed with my husband watching a movie. It’s just uncouth – almost barbaric.

Oh but how I would love for you to turn that barbarism on to me!

Eish! You see the thoughts you made me think again? I will NOT succumb to your hushed, covert, subliminal advances; I will not!

The truth is Idris, there are legions of women (and no doubt several men) who would welcome your attention and affections. I will have to respectfully request that you seek a new target and stalk someone else. I sadly, am unavailable. Perhaps in another lifetime, under different circumstances, we could have been lovers and perhaps raised a family. I would have happily borne 23 or 25 children, the fruit of years of our unbridled passion. Alas, it is not meant to be, Idris!

Take care, Idris. May love, life and gorgeousness continue to be with you.