I have a confession. I like to look at tabloid covers when I'm in the checkout line at the grocery store.
C'mon. Be honest. You do it, too.
I try not to be obvious, though. I stand in front of Better Homes and Gardens and pretend to care about doing my own home improvements or whether or not I'm raising spoiled brats, but I'm actually looking out of the corner of my eye at the Star magazine caddy corner down from it and wondering which mystery celebrity is wearing that bikini and cellulite on her thighs. Yikes! Is that how Cameron Diaz looks without makeup? And don't even get me started on Star Jones.
Now those really stupid stories, like alien babies and 7,000 pound people don't interest me at all. I'm no idiot. I mean, I know the difference between reality and a plain, bald-faced lie. I'm an intellectual, for cryin' out loud.
What?! Lindsay Lohan was spotted with a new tatoo while shopping for cleaning products at Target with Johnny Depp and his secret love child named Nissan?
Now there's a story.
I was in Barnes and Noble the other night with a friend. We had gathered up tons of books on writing, getting published and the like. We sat in the cafe, sometimes chatting, sometimes sitting in silence, soaking up the written words like a Bounty towel on spilled Kool-Aid. During one of our conversations the subject matter turned to children. Imagine that. She began to pour out her heart about the struggles she's having with her pre-teen daughter. I sat listening intently as she described the pain and angst of life with a hormonal girl. At times, even tearing up with emotion. Suddenly, in mid-sentence, her gaze fixed over my shoulder and her jaw dropped. "Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed.
What? A spider on my shoulder? A 7,000 pound man? What?
"Jen and Vince are getting married?!" She jumped up from her seat and ran to grab the magazine with the jarring headline, bringing it back to the table to devour every seedy detail. She flipped through quickly, anxious to get the skinny on the wedding plans.
I couldn't believe it. Her. My smart, bookish friend with wisdom beyond her years. Honestly, I couldn't believe she even knew who Vince was. Here she was, pouring over the article as if her very being depended on knowing this juicy bit of gossip.
As it turns out, it was all a hoax. The article was just a sneaky way to get you to pick up the magazine. And she fell for it. Hook. Line. And sinker.
"You want to read it?" she asks, handing it to me.
"No," I snort haughtily. As if I care about Jen and Vince.
"But I do want to look at the fashions at the beginning. You flipped through those too fast."
Seriously. Did you see what Keira Knightly wore to her movie premiere?