Cover Girl

Standing in the checkout line, I pass time by scanning the headlines of all the various gossip and star rags. I've never subscribed to any of them. Yet, part of the reason I look forward to grocery shopping is that after I've finished scouring the isles, I rest both body and soul by getting my entertainment fix.

You can always count on Globe and Star to offer the most outlandish headlines. I especially appreciate the blurry 'fat pictures' of otherwise skinny starlets. Somehow, seeing a distorted picture of the cellulite on Jennifer Aniston's thigh makes me feel better about myself. Never mind that the picture is probably as real as the evidence of the little green alien found in Phoenix. Just the thought of Aniston having fat thighs perks me up just the same.

Moving through the checkout isle and skipping over an uninspiring Reader's Digest, I fixate on the latest Cosmo and Glamour magazines, which always seem to battle for the most titillating headlines. Bold, red letters-- "100 Sex Trick's Revealed" or "XXX Sex: What Men Really Want" --get me curious enough to think about spending the $3 to purchase the magazines. But then I notice other featured articles such as child exploitation and female mutilation that don't even rate a single, smaller-print heading. "Where are their priorities?" I ask myself. Indignant at such wanton manipulation, I forgo the sex tips, feeling all the more noble-minded for doing so.

Still, it doesn't matter whether someone with 11 items snuck into the express lane or had their order redone after discovering a meager 25-cents coupon. Thanks to the sometimes laugh-out-loud funny but always mindlessly entertaining headlines offered on the magazine racks, I can usually count on a delightful experience in the checkout line.

But today, I had a rare and surprisingly negative reaction to US Weekly and People magazines, which both featured Jessica Simpson on their covers.

"I'M IN LOVE! Just two months after her divorce became final, Jessica Simpson takes a chance on a new romance with singer John Mayer," announced People.

"A NEW LOVE FOR JESSICA! For the first time, Simpson reveals her romance with rocker John Mayer--and a shocking confession about Nick," echoed US Weekly.

After seeing the dueling covers, I felt a sour pit in my stomach. "Who the hell cares?" I mutter angrily at Simpson, whose bright smile egged on my disdain.

Normally, I pay little mind to the media hype given to celebrities. TomKat, Benifer, Brangelina--I have always been able to stomach the never-ending barrage of coverage given to celebrity couples. But today, in the midst of all the sex secrets revealed and alien encounter headlines, I found Jessica Simpson love life to be the most objectionable of all.

Is it the little green monster creeping around inside of me? I don't think so? Sure, Simpson is adorable and talented (I know, the point is arguable), but I'm not put off by her successes. If not, then what? As I gaze at the cover I grow suspicious of the timing and motive of the revelation. Most of us have experienced breakup and heartache, suffering quietly, except for the care and concern of a few close friends. We don't have the luxury of press agents or spin doctors who tout our side of the story or stage publicity stunts to make sure that our image goes untarnished.

After my most painful breakups, I could have only dreamed of issuing a well-timed press release that both preserved my dignity and told the other party to fuck off in the same perfectly worded sentence. As it was, the best I could have hoped for was accidentally bumping into my ex at the grocery store with a well-chiseled man on my arm, looking as dazzling and flawless as one can without the benefit of an airbrush. As reality would have it, however, the ex bumped in to me at the checkout counter, reading Globe, all alone, as I waited in line intensley examining the supposed dimples on Jennifer Aniston's thighs.