I know, empirically, that I need to accept that this really is Faith Hill and Tim McGraw. But the more I stare at this photograph, the more it feels like these are just poseable wax replicas yanked from the Madame Tussaud's exhibit down by The Venetian and propped up on the red carpet. Because... well, first, I wouldn't be at all surprised if we learned in about ten years that Tim McGraw is actually a recluse who only leaves the house to perform live, leaving the rest of his public duties to a host of stuffed, animatronic, or plastic facsimiles. He always looks the same and holds himself the same way, like someone shoved a memory chip into the back of a Cowboy Ken doll, all beefcake on the outside but with none of the hidden sausage.
Faith Hill, though, just looks... off. She looks stiff and misshapen, kind of like the aforementioned bastard children of the waxworks museum that are near enough likenesses to look familiar, but far enough off to be completely creepy and inspires me to run away. That dress makes her boobs look malformed. And I'm pretty sure that Faith Hill is supposed to be hot, and not like the product of a novice pulling an all-nighter on the wax wheel (okay, so probably the Tussaud's people don't make things on wheels, but it's more fun to imagine that a Demi Moore type was staying up late to try and finish Faith Hill's torso and got distracted by the ghostly caress of her tragically deceased man-bitch, which I guess means one possible theory for Faith's misplaced lady lumps is that they got kicked around by some wicked coitus).
So in sum, I have no idea what I'm talking about, except that something is awry here with country music's favorite couple. But we'll know soon enough if my wax-replica theory is correct -- wearing what appears to be the family turtle around her neck will either result in Faith's head being slowly sawed off, or a rapid application of healing salve when the chafing on Flesh Faith's neck makes her crazy.
