As is my custom on an evening when I’m feeling too yucky to read or do anything else productive, I turned on the TV. And I’ve just caught the last twenty minutes or so of Picture Perfect.

Can I just admit here that I have no idea what Jennifer Aniston’s face looks like? Honestly. And I watched “Friends” for years. And she seems to be in every dumb movie I come across. I see her all the time. I have no idea what that woman’s face looks like. If it was shown to me in a line-up, I’m not sure I could pick it out.

The first issue is her hair. Her. perfect. hair. Hair I covet, in a scoffing “sure if I wanted look perfect” kind of way. Have you heard about me and my hair? I may be a little obsessed. I know this. Regardless. This chick’s hair cuts diagonally across her face in such a way that it never obscures her vision, yet always looks vaguely sultry and polished. My hair never does that. No one’s hair really does that, right? Right?? I want to kill her. Kill her, and steal her impossible hair for my very own. (She also doesn’t have any grey, because she’s not a bitter unemployed divorced mother to two, plus her foils probably cost the same as my mortgage. Still, that’s really no excuse.)

The second issue I don’t understand. The hair thing… okay, it comes down to envy. Makes sense, I suppose. In a pitiful loser sort of way. But this other thing; I can’t explain it.

Her boobs are fake, right? They are positively mesmerizing! (I am heterosexual and normally breasts do not demand my attention this way. Please help me.) They don’t move. I strongly suspect her of wearing a bra of coconut shells. And yet, in every scene, if my eyes stray from her hair for even a moment it is to behold the unmoving, consummate roundness that is her freakish bustline. Also she’s one of those Lily Nipples types (always in “bloom”). Is it very cold where they film? Are there marbles glued to the front of the coconuts? Tomorrow when I reread this post, can I blame it on the hormone patch…?