Okay, so let me tell you what happens when your phone rings and the voice on the other end of the line belongs to Pierce Brosnan: You’re done. That’s it. He’s yours. I never want to hear any other voice on the phone ever again. If the phone rings again and it’s my mom on the other end of the line, I will be secretly crushed that it’s not Pierce Brosnan (sorry, mom). The voice is unmistakable: an Irish lilt softened over decades of living here in America, resulting in an accent that is entirely Brosnan’s own. Trying to replicate it would be like trying to make a Serrano ham in Jacksonville. It can’t be done. One “hello” is all he requires to reduce you to a swooning grandmother. Even the man’s scandals are debonair.