Fugged!

It is well and truly established that I am quite fond of Miss Mandy Moore. She seems like someone you could be friends with — actual Go Out For Beers With, Complain About Work To, Talk About Boys With, Borrow Going-Out Tops From Friends, as opposed to being someone who has solely Snort Coke With, Steal Parts From, Cheat On Boyfriends With, “Accidentally” Spill Wine on Your Favorite Top Hollywood-Style Friends.  And, apparently — at least according to Elle -- she is both a lover AND a fighter, and who doesn’t appreciate that in a girl? 

And, sure, maybe she’s a lover and a fight with sort of unusually straw-like hair, according to his cover, but she looks cute and beachy in that dress, no? Imagine that with slightly healthier-looking hair. It works — right? Sure. It works. Everything is working out fine for Mands. Let’s take a gander at her on the inside, shall we?

Um.

That’s… not such a great picture. In fact, I feel like if Mandy and I were Friends Friends, and I snapped that on my digital camera, she would squeak and force me to delete it. She doesn’t look sultry as much as she looks sort of…well, let’s just say that this is very, VERY similar to the look I had on my face last weekend when I was exhausted and hungover and the nice lady at the Coffee Bean told me that it would be about ten minutes before my coffee was ready because the coffee flux capacitor had blown a gasket (or something).

Mandy, I don’t know what you did to the folks over at Elle, but — as your friend — I think you need to find some way to make it right. Now, can I borrow that white dress this weekend?