An Open Letter to Scandal’s Harrison Wright
Week in and week out I tune in and see you, looking like the personification of Justin Timberlake’s Suit & Tie, pensive, mouth turned down. Every week you are caught up in some new circle of hell that Olivia Pope drags you into and it is seems that *you* are always the fall man when ish gets real. The buck stops here.
I see you go to the ends of the Earth for her, all because she looked out when you almost went down for insider trading. So? Olivia Pope’s a dirty dealer and still gets to run around DC without even sweating out her sew-in. What’s more messed up is that even when you reverse engineered her shenanigans, she still didn’t trust you enough to tell you what’s really going on. You had to ask her what she needed. Twice. You would never have to do that with me. I’m just sayin’.
I have questions, Harrison. How come, as fine as you are, with a razor sharp shape up that would put even Steve Harvey’s old lacefront to shame, you are never the center of someone’s love story? A man like you in a city like DC should never have a hard time finding someone to keep you warm in the cold winter months. I’m sure you’ve been to every exclusive lounge or club in the city, and I’m also sure that you could have your pick of any of the lawyers/marketing directors/government employees at the bar. Everyone else in Olivia’s crew has someone keeping the home fires burning – Cyrus has James, boring Quinn had a boo before he got killed, and hell, even creepy-A$$ Huck had an assassin-lover for a hot second. So then why isn’t your heart allowed to flourish? It just doesn’t make sense.
Why don’t you ever go against her, Harrison? She has you out here in the line of fire doing her petty work while she scampers off in her perfectly little wardrobe to sleaze it up with the President. Meanwhile, you sacrifice having a life. What root has Olivia put on you that you can’t leave? What favor do you owe her? Did she help you convict the crew that got your brother killed in Stomp the Yard? Seriously it has to be something – is she a relative? Your baby’s mother? From what I can tell all she does is hog up the screen, trembling that lip and wiggling her eyebrows like a damn maniac.
If only you’d open your eyes then you’d see, Harrison, that I’m not the only girl out here that’s riding hard for you. There are probably hundreds, maybe thousands, of women like me, yearning to be Mrs. Wright pun intended. We want to see your chiseled face on screen more, speaking, getting the love you rightfully deserve. And you don’t have to worry about calling and figuring out where we are, or what we’re doing, because we’ll be with you every Thursday, 10 PM EST.