Man, it's got to be tough being Jennifer Aniston. Your hubby knocked up the Whore of Babylon, your films are tanking and your new romance is, well, positively schitzophrenic. And I know that this is true, because I read the celebrity weeklies. And I believe everything they say. Which is giving me something of a headache this week.
Take Star. Star says you are sad, Jen.
"They kissed. They talked about going away together the following weekend. Vince Vaughn even spoon-fed Jennifer Aniston some of his spinach lasagne. So why did it seem as if a dark cloud hovered over their dinner at Beverly Hills' trendy Porta Via bistro last month? And why did Jen barely touch her food?"
I don't know! And it's killing me. It's got to be love, surely? He SPOON-FED HER SPINACH LASAGNE! That's something I've been dreaming of my whole life. But no. She's toast apparently. Vince is chucking her. Because she chucked him. So he's chucking her. Life is so complex.
But wait! There's more! Us Weekly to the rescue!
"As the sun set on May 15, Jennifer Aniston, 37, and Vince Vaughn, 36, quietly shuttled into the Montage Resort & Spa in Laguna Beach, California, and disappeared behind the doors of their $1,900-per night suite."
Where they shagged, shagged and shagged some more because they are so totally in love. Yes! No-one's chucking anyone in this scenario. Hurrah!
Oh, and OK! says she's trying for a baby. But no-one reads OK! so who cares.