I'm one of those people who just likes Jennifer Garner, for whatever reason, and doesn't really care who she's boffing as long as she's happy.
I do, however, care about reckless uses of doilies and sashes:
She looks like a karate bride; a black-belt in ancient and sacret art of Pulling A Scarlett O'Hara With Granny's Best Lace Curtains. Whoever told her to cinch the dress ought to be slapped. I'm sure tomorrow I'll find out that the scarf belonged to a dead relative/starving child/Ben Affleck, and that she wore it as a tribute, but even if that's true, I maintain that the honoree would take one look at her deployment of said tribute scarf and weep tears of sartorial grief.
And if those are flat shoes under there, and if the dress indeed has the hidden trouser element at which it hints in this photo, then she's going on my list. All the Krav-Maga in the world can't defeat a vigorous fugging.
Oh, Jen. Can't we go back to the days when ill-fitting corsets and the ensuing quadra-boob were your only problems?
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