All that hysteria at the beginning of the summer…all the speculation…all for naught. But – shameless gloat coming up – if you were reading my column, you would have known otherwise…right? Reese showed up to collect her surfboard tonight, skipping the carpet, pretty much leaving as soon as her award was announced, not a bulge in sight, slimmer than she’s been in months, every hair, every white tooth, every polite, southern, sickeningly sweet bone perfectly in place. And please…save it with the indignant emails about my cynicism, my bitchiness, my reluctance to believe it’s as good as it looks. Because curiously enough, every time there’s a riddle or a blind item, in this column or any other, about a crumbling marriage or a badly behaved actress, one of the first guesses is always, always Reese Witherspoon. Me cynical? Yes, of course. But you too, non?