A couple years ago, when Teri Hatcher showed up on those Radio Shack ads as Howie Long's female companion of an ambiguous nature -- who is in real life married to someone else but who nags and rags on Howie like they're having regular sex, making us want to ask, "Just how-ie long is he, Teri?" -- we thought to ourselves, "Damn, someone put her away wet. Girlfriend's looking ridden."
Now, there is nothing wrong with aging. But there IS something wrong with trying to cover your aging by turning yourself orange (Katie Couric, we're looking at you -- but with shades on, because the brightness of your unnatural hue burns our retinas to a crisp).
Somewhere, behind the teeth and the Mystic Tan and the simian hairline creeping down her forehead like it's staging a land-grab, there lies the natural good looks of a woman who was once considered quite a sexpot. Now she just looks tired. You would think that being divorced from Jon Tenney, and thereby freed from the strain of staying up nights convincing him that he DOES have talent and WILL have a huge career someday, would have freshened up Teri and made her spry. Instead she looks like she went on a celebratory Carnival Cruise and forgot to get off the conga line for two months.
Teri: Take a nap. Wash your face. Put on a little powder, because the oil deposits up there on that forehead (really a three-head; you might consider waxing back your hairline) would make Blake Carrington weep with joy. And then STAY OUT OF THE TANNING BOOTH. You'll thank me when People then profiles you in its prized "Fit, 40, and Fabulous" issue this year -- because the writer will have realized with a jolt that you are not, in fact, 46.
