Have you read Nicole Krauss’s The History Of Love? It’s such a beautiful, devastating book, you really should if you haven’t already. Anyway, there’s a part near the beginning as we’re being introduced to old Leo Gursky, who seems to finding ways to put off death by redirecting pain to different parts of his body, so as not to burden the already weak parts.

“Small daily humiliations - these I take, generally, in my liver. Other damages I take in other places. The pancreas I reserve for being struck by all that’s been lost. Disappointment in myself: right kidney. Disappointment of others in me: left kidney. Personal failures: kishkes. When the clocks are turned back and the dark falls before I’m ready, this, for reasons I can’t explain, I feel in my wrists. And when I wake up and my fingers are stiff, almost certainly I was dreaming of my childhood.”

It’s a wonderfully evocative paragraph and I often, as a distraction from hurt or longing, try to imagine where on my body I should send those feelings, where they would be a good fit.

I am hurting today, I think in my hips, because I would have much rather given the title of Worst Couple Try to Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel. But the way Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen were last night, with the Tom Cruise/Will Smith guffawing on the steps and his fashion boy hair, it was too much, even for me. And I’m the Gisele/Tom apologist. Always. I love them. I worship them. I could stare and stare and stare and stare at them for hours.

Look at them.

They’re incredible to look at.

She’s incredible in that Givenchy.

So just, you know, stand there and look incredible. Stop...doing sh-t like over-laughing and Becksing your hair like it’s totally the same. Not the same! Not the same at all!