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Loved you in Sliders. Now shut the hell up.

Stop the presses, America!  According to People magazine, "Rebecca Romijn and Jerry O'Connell, who celebrated their first wedding anniversary July 14, are not expecting a baby — yet!" 

It may not be immediately obvious why this is newsworthy.  Why, in this corner of the Internet alone I know simply scads of people who aren't expecting a baby — "yet!"  But as it turns out, apparently it's not enough that the media keep us apprised on a minute-by-minute basis of whose unseemly bloat is actually a sacred bump.  Now you can get round-the-clock alerts about celebrities who aren't pregnant.  Or who, like Romijn and O'Connell, want to be, as the actor announced on Saturday at a benefit for an animal rescue group.

O'Connell, who says trying to get pregnant is "a lot of fun," brought along the couple's dogs Taco and Better who he called "our babies."

Yeah, hey, doesn't trying to get pregnant rock?  What's your favorite position, Jerry?  The one where your knees are shaking uncontrollably during your HSG as you try to keep from crawling backward off the table from the pain?  The one where you don't move from the sofa for three days after a D&C?  The one where your doctor palpates your manly bag of worms?

Oh, oh, oh, wait, I get it!  You meant having frequent sex is a lot of fun.  I bet you were misquoted.  If I were you I'd sue.

"It's just such a great feeling you get when you rescue an animal," he said. "They're eternally grateful and they really trust you and they're just the best."

Besides, he said, "Pets are training for kids."

You know, I agree!  Pets are just like kids!  Caring for an animal is a lot like being a parent.  That dumb devotion gets me every time.  I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'm in it for the lambent gratitude that shines out of my son's eyes even as he delivers a vicious pinch to my upper arm because I've forbidden him to stick a green bean up his nose.  ("It is my breathing tube," he furiously insists.  "No more life-giving oxygen for you," I answer briskly, seizing the legume remorselessly.)  And I can certainly agree that filling a water dish once daily and throwing the occasional tennis ball might prepa...

But, no, on second thought, let's skip that part, because I admit I am just being pissy.  Let's jump ahead instead to the part where I call you a tacky jackass for declaring your reproductive plans to the press at all, much less at the Playboy Mansion; a famewhore for co-opting an event that's about puppies to make sure the world knows you're not averse to sticking it to your wife; and a stopped-clock-right-twice-a-day for musing that now is the time to have children, "before [Rebecca] figures out that she could do a lot better than me."

Stay every bit as classy as you are, Jerry.

For the rest of you who are not, so far as I know, making it nightly with a former supermodel, thank you for your support and perspective during my recent mini-meltdown.  Tomorrow I have some things to give away, chocolate, quilted, and stuffed.