In the fitness room tonight, the TV in front of my elliptical was tuned to the E! channel—evidently people enjoy torturing themselves with images of thin and toned celebrities as they work out. During my half hour of profuse sweating, the show about Hefner's ex-girlfriend Kendra was on, but it would seem that married life has tamed her wild side. She was pregnant to the point of popping, but I don't see why following her around with a camera is necessary or even lucrative, because she just sat on the couch with her dog, went to the doctor's for an ultrasound, and attended a Lamaze class.
Until, that is, she and her husband made a plaster cast of her baby belly. Much like my relationship with the bowl in the servery containing heavily salted, crisp-yet-fluffy pita chips, I simply could not turn away. Her husband covered her naked breasts and protruding stomach with wet strips... and when the mold had hardened enough to remove, this hollow replication of Kendra's torso (complete with E-cups, as she pointed out) was the centerpiece of their holiday dinner.
Needless to say, this was just about the oddest scene I have ever exercised to.
At least I was a tad comforted by knowing that my own stomach, at that moment, was far less rotund than a glamor model's.
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