Reese Witherspoon Cleaned Her Own Hollywood Star, but Will She Come Clean My Room?

Reese Witherspoon was taking a stroll down Hollywood Boulevard today when she ran into her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. The star was installed in 2010, per Buzzfeed, and as poor Reese discovered, eight years of getting stomped on does a number on an arbitrary piece of terrazzo. So, naturally, she gave it a little scrub, and documented the event in her Instagram story:

It’s a very cute little story, and I’m sure the star appreciated spending 15 minutes unsullied before millions of feet trampled upon it once more. But I have a proposal for Reese, now that I’ve been made aware of her enthusiasm for cleaning. For the last few months, I have let a layer of dust lay waste to my room, partially out of sheer laziness, and partially because my radiator broke and I couldn’t bear to spend an extra second in there over the winter. The frost is thawing and I’m starting to sneeze myself to sleep, but the de-griming task seems daunting now, so Reese, can you come clean my room? Please? I think you owe me at least this. Here’s why.

A few weeks ago, I was on a plane showing the 2017 Reese Witherspoon vehicle Home Again. To recap for the uninitiated, the plot of the film, which was directed by none other than Nancy Meyers’s daughter, is thus: Witherspoon plays Alice, the 40-year-old daughter of a famed late Hollywood screenwriter, who separates from her husband and moves her two young daughters to her father’s sprawling Los Angeles abode. Through a series of “wacky” events, she ends up housing three young aspiring filmmakers, all of whom (SPOILER ALERT) fall in love with her while attempting to make it big in Hollywood. This is the trailer (and here’s Bobby Finger’s review from September):

This movie was so bad it was incredible. The extent of this film’s conflict is that Alice, who has no professional work experience to speak of, wants to be an interior designer, but her first client doesn’t like her style and is too chicken to fire her. The three male filmmakers who take up residence in her bespoke guesthouse are routinely lauded for their (never seen!) short film and artistic prowess, but balk at the chance to work with a very famous and influential director because he might not let them shoot a feature in black and white, quelle horreur. It is, essentially, a Nancy Meyers film if you subtracted plot and character development and added an extra pinch of white privilege and a few more pieces of strategically-placed home decor.

There was no other movie to watch and I was too lazy to dig my book out of my backpack, so I sat through the whole thing. I regret it. I can’t get that two hours back, but Reese, if you come over and vacuum my floor, we can forget the whole thing. Please? Call me.