She should be seen and not heard

I had a fantastic time at the hair salon today; I always seem to when I go in there. I do not enjoy massages or facials or mani-pedis, or any of those 'typically' girly pamperings. Instead, I hit the hair salon for my rest & relaxation.

I don't know why, but I find the smell of hair bleach intoxicating, the application of post-colouring toner slapped onto my head a positive delight. And I thoroughly enjoy catching up on the trashiest of trashy journalism as I plough through the salon's magazine rack.

But today, the "Us" magazine scared the crap out of me. They had interviewed one of my ex boyfriends, Jason Priestly. I could never work out why the girls of Beverly Hills didn't immediately warm to Brandon Walsh's down-home Midwestern charms. The fact that he then befriended the equally yummy Dylan was to his eternal benefit. I would have settled for befriending Dylan's Porsche, but I am veering off point.

The magazine interviewed the real-life Jason Priestly and his new bride, and profiled their new baby. And do you want to know what made me vomit a little in my mouth? The following was the first quote ascribed to the new Mrs Priestly:

"The first time I saw Jason, my womb ached. I knew this was the father of my child."

Ahem, I'm sorry? Your womb just ached? If you want to talk involuntary bodily reactions, how about the upchuck reflex I'm struggling to supress?!

So I am vowing here and now, to never EVER say that sentence aloud to anyone, male or female. Let's keep my little literary discovery to ourselves, shall we? All I will say is that aching wombs should be symptoms of cramps, gas, or bad chilli. And no magazine journalist, however trashy, should ever presume that there might be other more misty-eyed motivations.