It's me, Angelina Jolie, the Oscar winner that you are attached to. It's been a while since we've talked, and I hope this letter finds you cellulite free.
I know our relationship became strained after all the hype over you jutting out of my black Versace gown on Oscar night, but I want to let you know that I am ready to move on. I'm ready to cross my legs in peace.
I want you to be able to lean on my left leg and me. Through good time and bad times, I would like you on my right side. I know many people and news outlets have made fun of you for that awkward position on that fateful February night, but I want to let you know I have no hard feelings.
You were bullied and tormented for days, weeks, even a month on the web. A right leg should never be called awkward, uncomfortable and threatening, and yet you were. Your bare outburst from my high-cut gown even spawned the term Jolie-ing, and I left you to stand on the pressure all alone.
I honestly didn't pay attention to it. I don't watch those TV shows and if I go online and see something about myself, I don't click on it. But you did. You stuck your big right toe up there and you were slapped with humiliation. Even though the people I surround myself with don't really talk about that kind of stuff, I should have known better that other limbs talk.
It wasn't fair for me to isolate you. Nobody should have pulled my leg about that night, especially not my right leg.
For the next red carpet event I attend, I will have a leg up ... a right leg up.