The tabloids are always turning to nutritionists, trainers, plastic surgeons and other experts who "don't treat" the stars but aren't too busy to make determinations about people they don't know. We can play that game!
Meet Tiara Dew Dots, our "expert." She knows exactly what Brad and Angie are thinking, solely based on the red carpet photos from Cannes that are all over the internet.
TDD: There is tension here. Brad is trying to "Walk Away," just like the magazines report. Angelina is physically restraining him. Her stance is closed up and powerful; his limbs are all over the place — scattered, like his feelings for her. His brow is riddled with lines; he's worried he won't be able to escape. The one hand raised up is a cry for help.
TDD: Despite the smiles, there is pain in their eyes. She is reaching out to him, and he is recoiling. He would like to pluck her hand from his waist — see how his hand hovers? But he's afraid. His won't let his heels touch the ground, in fear of being literally stuck somewhere with her.
TDD: Angelina turns her back on the cameras the way she turns her back on men, when she's done with them. She's pivoted away from Brad and scanning the crowd for a new victim. Although one of Brad's hands attempts to cling to her, his other hand makes the old comic gesture, "Take my wife. Please."
TDD: They are looking — and moving — in different directions. Need I say more?????
TDD: Hmm. Odd. Here it almost looks like they're in love.
TDD: Her eyes are heavy-lidded with contempt. She is looking at his mouth like she can't believe the bullshit coming out it. She's thinking, why don't the tabloids ever accuse me of walking away? I am the one putting up with the epic vapidity that is your brain. And I hate how I'm always willing to watch whatever you want, but you can't sit through ten seconds of "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency." Oh, wait. Sorry. I'm talking about Mr. Dew Dots now. Where were we?
TTD: His eyebrows show that he is in the moment, enjoying the attention. Her smooth, calm face shows she has checked out, emotionally. In fact, a faraway gaze like that could mean she's remembering that time she had sex with Billy Bob in the back of a limo on the way to the Ocsars. Maybe.
TDD: She looks at him with the same weary bemusement one would offer a tap-dancing monkey. She's so over it. She lets him clasp her hand, but sends a message with her eyes: "You'll never control me." He may or may not be passing gas. One foot is pointed toward her; the other away: Should he stay or should he go? The lady behind them has never been so psyched to have a picture of someone's shoulder.
TTD: You'd think that his arm, placed over hers, means that he is the dominant one. But no! The fact that her arm is sneakily snaked under his proves that she is a back-stabbing husband stealer. Look closely and you'll see that while his hand is relaxed lightly on her back, her hand is spread like a claw across the back of his jacket — she will quickly snatch him away to a hut in a difficult-to-pronounce country should Megan Fox suddenly materialize.
TTD: You can almost hear her whispering, "You're not going anywhere, mister."
TTD: Um. Hmm. Strange. This looks like… Love. But it can't be! I read In Touch, I know what's up.