Rob Lowe Has Broken My Heart. He Doesn’t Know It Yet.

Rob Lowe was asked to name his best on-screen kiss, and he answered immediately: Nastassja Kinski. They kissed in The Hotel New Hampshire back in 1984. Apparently she was so beautiful that he was nervous.

I have taken this news with the dignity you would expect from a woman whose in her sixties. I’m going to lie down for a bit.

Of course, Nastassja Kinski is gorgeous. I’ve seen her. I’m not disputing his eyesight. What I object to is Rob Lowe still remembering a kiss from 1984 while I’ve spent the intervening forty-two years being available in a purely theoretical sense.

The really annoying part is that he’s still gorgeous himself. Rob Lowe has somehow kept the face and the hair. It feels excessive. There ought to be a limit. Boy... He ought to try being a woman. There is no such thing as a gorgeous, craggy woman!

He’s been married for decades, I’m happily spoken for, and the kiss happened on a film set before many people reading this were born. None of which makes my disappointment any less real. I didn’t ask for an explanation of who his favourite was. I was quite content not knowing.

So congratulations, Nastassja. You won a competition you probably didn’t realise was still running. As for Rob, I’ll forgive him eventually.

Probably by lunchtime.