So I just saw Stepford Wives, and despite the scene involving a kitchen full of cupcakes, we're talking three hundred or so cupcakes, I was not impressed. Glenn Close's little exercise class, where the robot-wifeys are all in heels and dresses doing a little spin around a ballroom looks like so much more fun than being a corporate borderline-exercise-bulimic at Crunch, if you ask me. I hate the dichotomy between asexual-corporate-powerful-intelligent and lobotomized-hot-sexual-relaxed.

You can be powerful and sexual, you can be intelligent and relaxed, you can have long sexy hair and a cute little frock and love your husband to pieces and still run the planet. Duh.

So it's a thumbs down for Stepford Wives from me, I have to say.

My hunch--though I haven't seen it yet--is that the Cupcake movie of the summer is going to be White Chicks. I can't wait. Because the Wayanses know all about chick lit: Homey don't play dat.


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