I’m crushed about the dissolution of Brennifer
(or Bradiffer, if you prefer). I needed them. They were my gossip
Gibraltar. I needed to believe in something and they held out the
promise of romantic foreverness and conjoined immortality. In the
transient world of show biz relations, they broke the rules and beat the
odds, keeping Brad away from us but soothing that cruel blow by giving
us what seemed like a case of Hollywood-hitching without a hitch. As
both Bennifer and Brason (Britney and Jason) went splitsville, the world
continually turned to Brennifer for contrast and reassurance. They were
golden—the grown-up version of all those wildly popular
football-captain-head-cheerleader duos we loved to hate (and lived in
deep-seated envy of) in high school. Those cafeteria couples ended up
fat and frustrated—thank God—but Brennifer seemed to have found
fulfillment and momentum, while their looks managed to subtly improve.
He’s always been scruffily anti-celebrity but full of accessible charm,
while she seems whinily likable and adorably self-deprecating. They were
pleasantly oxymoronic similar opposites—the same but different—and
whatever the attraction, they clicked and we submitted.
Now all that’s left are Brevin (Britney and Kevin) and Paulanne
(Paul and Joanne), and Angelina will probably break them up too. I adore
Brad and am praying that the Disney version of the breakup (he wanted to
make babies, she wanted to make movies) is the real deal, though I feel
that even if he didn’t do the nasty with Angelina, he might as well
have. Everyone thinks he did anyway.
But am I the only one who feels that Gwyneth—who still seems to
harbor feelings for Brad—might eventually reconnect with him and have a
kid named Peach Pitt? Hello?
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