Tim Roth is on my list. At least once an episode of Lie to Me, he calls someone “love” in that British accent we’ve all been drawn to since at least 1964. “Whaddya think about that, luv?” “Don’t worry about it, luv.” It kills me when he does that. But it’s more than that. I find men who are blunt attractive. Not mean or harsh, but direct and honest. Tim has that look about him, like House without the knife to the gut. Of course the show makes me nervous, because I went to eight years of Catholic school. If someone even thinks I’m being dishonest, I start stammering and looking to the left and thinking, hard, about whether or not I’m actually lying without knowing it, maybe even. “Did you walk or drive to work today? I thought I saw you on the cross walk.” Well, it’s three miles uphill in busy traffic, so I would NEVER walk unless someone offered me a million dollars to do it, like Demi Moore in that movie, but even less plausible. But I still feel, as the word “drove” exits my mouth, as if maybe I’m lying — to myself. So if I were suspect in Tim’s show, I just know he wouldn’t believe anything I said. Which is too bad, because I luv him so much.